


The Pirate

by StellaMachiavelli



Category: Interview With the Vampire (1994), Vampire Chronicles - All Media Types, Vampire Chronicles - Anne Rice
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, M/M, Pirates, Rape/Non-con Elements, Stockholm Syndrome, i wrote this prior to tumblr don't kinkshame me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:00:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 29
Words: 23,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23160607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StellaMachiavelli/pseuds/StellaMachiavelli
Summary: AU. Lestat is a cruel and domineering pirate who leaves a trail of victims and destruction behind him. One night, he attacks a young black-haired Frenchman and sends him on a quest for revenge...
Relationships: Lestat de Lioncourt/Louis de Pointe du Lac
Comments: 70
Kudos: 151





	1. The Pirate

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this fic years ago and I'm dusting it off for the archive. It's not one of my best but it was pretty popular. 
> 
> Let me warn you here and now that it's violent and there is a lot of dubcon. I won't apologize after warning twice now if you don't like it. Please click out of this fic now if you think this might bother you.

It was high summer in the Mediterranean, and pirate activity was still as high as ever in this, the year of our Lord 1791. The Caribbean and the African seas were rough at this time of year, so a lot of plundering was done in the Mediterranean, while various European nations—the Italians, the French, the Spanish, the British—warred with each other incessantly, meaning rich pickings for pirates allowed to plunder friend and foe alike.

The Mermaid pirate ship was one of the deadliest foes of the high seas, one that made merchants reluctant to brave the lucrative route from Turkey to the Romantic nations, for no sooner was a ship laden with spices and silk, gold and provisions, then the crafty and ruthless Mermaid crew was upon them, leaving a trail of slaughter and plunder that turned the seas red.

The coastal towns, too, trembled in the wake of the pirate ships, and they, like the merchants, feared the notoriously ruthless Mermaid crew, headed by the deadly pirate Lestat, a man with as voracious an appetite for fighting and raping as for treasure. Nobody was safe from their attacks, not even the French nation that Lestat had called home before he took to the high seas.

Pirates were farthest from the mind of Monsieur de Ville, the captain of the merchant ship Etoile that Sunday morning. He was returning from a long voyage to Cyprus and Turkey, where he had picked up many wares. There were also a dozen or so female guests on board who had traveled with their rich spouses to choose fine materials for their homes and clothes. Monsieur de Ville sighed. He didn’t think having females on board was a good thing; they were considered unlucky by true seafarers, and he fervently wished to return to Narbonne, his pretty little hometown on the French coast as soon as possible.

He gazed out at the sparkling blue waters of the Mediterranean as they passed the coast of Italy, and felt good. France was not too far away. This journey would soon be at an end and he could enjoy a comfortable summer going by the amount of goods he would be able to trade and sell back in France. He might even be comfortable for a year.

He watched the sea for a little while, lost in daydreams. Then he heard his name being shouted. He whipped about, wondering who had screamed his name. The sailor in the crow’s nest was shouting frantically. He strained to hear over the fresh finds whipping his hair about. “What?” he asked, noting with trepidation that several people seemed to be in a state of alarm.

“Pirates!” screamed the sailor, “there are pirates on the horizon!”

Monsieur de Ville turned to the West, and his heart quailed at the sight of the black ship, still too far away to be properly distinguishable against the gleaming sky, but which was heading towards them at a speed he knew he could not outmatch.

~

“All womenfolk, get below deck! To your cabins, now!”

Severine Trenet put her darning needle down and looked about fearfully as the ship erupted in panic around her. She rose from the little seat outside her cabin and watched as people ran back and forth. “Jean, What’s happening?” she asked her husband as he came towards her.

“Pirates are advancing on us from the West,” he said, and his voice was struck by fear. Jean was not a fighter, but a refined young man who would nevertheless be called on to fight against a crew of savages. Severine trembled, knowing what the outcome was likely to be. “You have to get inside,” he said, “I promise I’ll defend you to the death.”

“Don’t leave me!” she whispered, horrified.

“I have to.” He said.

Several of the women screamed. “They’re leaving us to face them alone!” cried one woman, desperately.

“Who?”

“The other ship! They’re just turning away!”

Severine glanced out over the sea, to where the other ship that had been travelling with them, which had been several leagues in front, picked up speed and rapidly disappeared towards the horizon.

“They couldn’t help us anyway,” snapped Severine, “we’re not carrying weapons!”

Jean smiled at her, and she knew he was proud of her pragmatism, her refusal to play the victim. He gave her one last, desperate kiss, then pushed her towards her cabin and locked her in from the outside.

She pressed her palms against the door, and prayed that he would remain safe, that they would come out of it safely. She didn’t believe it for a second

~

“We’re gaining on them, captain!” said Dagmar, rubbing his hands with glee.

The pirate Lestat, sword glimmering at his side, laughed. “So I see.” He turned to his crew, assembled on deck and armed to the teeth. “You all know the drill, my esteemed colleagues. Rape, plunder, pillage. Take what you want.”

“What about the other ship, captain?” asked one man.

“That, Monsieur Molloy, my old friend… that will come later.” Lestat grinned as they gained closer and closer onto the merchant ship. A cannonball was let fly, and as the other ship swung dangerously about, swayed by the impact, he drew his sword. “Right, Daniel. Let’s get down to business.”

~

Monsieur de Ville watched in horror as the pirate ship finally reached their ship. He was horrified to see that the black flag was adorned with a lion motif: Lestat de Lioncourt.

The cannonball blast had not been enough to sink it, but it had caused the ship to lose a lot of power as one of the sails had broken off. A plank was set up and the pirates swarmed aboard, cutting down the inexperienced sailors and gentlemen mercilessly. And amongst them, the golden hair of the pirate Lestat was clearly visible as he slew any fighters before him. Monsieur de Ville felt his heart sink. All hope was lost.

~

Lestat was lost in the heat of battle as he watched his crew cut down these simpletons easily. Daniel Molloy was out first, covering his back, then Dagmar and Pierrepoint, Aubenas, Eric and then the imposing old Egyptian, Khayman.

He cut down several more men, then, as the fight was dying down, he watched in delight as the goods came into view. Gold, antiques, beautiful rugs… he watched with interest as a pirate dragged a screaming woman below deck.

“Monsieur,” he said, turning to where the frightened captain was desperately straining against a knife Dagmar had at his throat, “there are women aboard?”


	2. Severine

Severine placed her hands over her ears as the sound of fighting grew to a crescendo, then began to die down. She knew instinctively that her husband, her tender, refined husband, was dead by now. Her heart burned with hatred for these pirates, but the strongest emotion she felt now was fear, pure and simple.

And when the door was kicked down easily, and the blond-haired pirate captain swaggered through the doorway, fixing her with a predatory glare, she knew real fear.

“Why, hello.” He said.

“Get the hell out of here! Get away!” she snarled, picking up several books and throwing them at him. He laughed and shut the mangled door behind him, its top hinge hanging crazily so she could hear the screams of her friends outside.

“Now, now,” he whispered, coming towards her as he undid his breeches, “we’ll have none of that.”

He kept coming forward until she was crushed against the wall. She gasped as he reached down and felt her sex through her dress. “No, please! Monsieur, I beg of you!”

He ignored her, and continued massaging her until she involuntarily began to moisten. She gasped in horror as he lifted her skirt and undergarments and pressed the head of his erect cock against her. Before she could protest, he shoved himself inside her ruthlessly, ignoring her pained cries as he screwed himself deeper into her barely-lubricated body.

She winced as she was pushed harder against the wall, one leg being forced to come up against his hip. He fucked her, hard and fast, his cock pounding into her mercilessly. She cursed at him and tried to push him away as he did, striking that handsome face until he held her down more securely. Her body began to respond against her will, lubricating him as he ground into her.

He came quickly, and she gasped in relief as he spasmed inside her and her burning insides were coated with his seed. He panted against her for a moment, then reached inside his overcoat and took out a curious piece of metal with a handle and a curious shape at the end of it.

“Alors, what now?” she snapped.

“You’ll see,” he said, smiling. He walked over to the little fireplace and placed the end of the piece of metal into the bottom of the coal, where the heat would be greatest. When it started to glow from the fire, he took it out and walked over to her. She eyed him suspiciously. “What on earth is that?”

“Why, it’s this,” he said, pushing her back against the wall. He held her down as he pressed the brand to the skin of her flank with an audible hissing sound as it marked her flesh. She screamed out in pain and fought savagely, but he held her down for a moment before stepping back. He picked up a glass of water from the table and poured it down her flank. She gasped and fell to the floor, gazing at the mark. The outline of a lion was branded into her skin.

“It’s my mark, dear,” said Lestat, “it’s for your own safety; my pledge is never to rape a person who I have already had. Life’s too short for wasting on the same people, n’est-ce pas?”

Severine nodded, weeping. Lestat tipped his hat to her. “Nice to make your acquaintance, Mademoiselle. Do take care.” He dusted himself down, then left the room, closing the door as she gave way to more weeping.

~

Back on deck, Lestat looked around as his men continued loading treasure from the merchant ship onto the Mermaid. He grinned as Daniel came towards him, carrying an ornamental sword he had taken. “Not a bad haul, eh?”

“Not at all, Lestat.”

“I would have liked more, though.”

“More?”

“We can never have too much treasure.” He frowned. “That reminds me—where is the captain?”

“Overboard. Dagmar didn’t like him much.”

“Idiot! Get me a member of crew, then.” He cursed as Daniel brought forward a sailor, who trembled at the sight of the legendary pirate. “Where is that other ship headed to?” asked Lestat.

“Narbonne, Monsieur.”

“Daniel, we’re going after it. Nobody escapes our ships.”

“And if they don’t give us their trades?”

“Then we’ll burn the town down. Simple.” He nodded at the sailor. “We’ll be leaving now. Have a pleasant day.”


	3. Narbonne

It took two days’ sailing before they reached Narbonne, on the French coast. Lestat hungered to punish the ship’s crew who thought they could outwit the great pirate Lestat.   
  
They waited till nightfall, hiding the pirate ship in a cove down the coast as they readied themselves to ravage the little town. They stole through the village leading up to the town centre, and, in an instant, hell was unleashed upon Narbonne.   
  
Gunfire and the sounds of clashing swords erupted throughout the town. Women and children screamed as the place erupted into chaos, the houses burning as the pirates set everything they could alight and punished the people of Narbonne for the escape of the other ship.   
  
Lestat was in his element. This place was full of riches; Spanish and French treasures, fine silks from the orient and lots of screaming, beautiful people. He allowed his men to run amok, raping and pillaging where they wanted along the port town. He swaggered through the docks, loving the chaos unfolding before him. Let Narbonne burn before him.   
  
He started in surprise as a man came flying out a window before him, covered in blood. He looked up as he heard the sound of a commotion inside the building, regarding the sign above with a grin. _Le Chat Noir_. A tavern, eh? That would mean wine and possibly a good time with one of the ladies, or a particularly nice young man.   
  
He straightened his clothes, and entered. What a sight before him! He almost tripped over a man who had been shot that had fallen in the doorway. The landlady behind the bar was screaming as she was caressed by one pirate while another helped himself and the crew to drinks. In the corner, Pierrepoint was riding a girl hard. She was crying out in pain as he hammered into her mercilessly. The place was chaos. He loved it.   
  
“Waiter, a drink of your finest, please.” He said, standing by the bar. His crewman grinned and served him a dose of good red in a wine glass. He downed it in one and smacked his lips appreciatively. “Another, kind sir.”  
  
“I said I was first!” shouted a voice.  
  
Lestat rolled his eyes. Dagmar. He turned to see what he was doing now.   
  
“I said we can share!” came Aubenas’s voice.   
  
“Yes, but who goes first?” asked another pirate.   
  
“I saw him first!” snapped Dagmar, getting angrier. He reached back, as if about to draw his sword.   
  
Lestat slid off his stool and walked forward with interest. There were several frightened ladies and a couple of young men waiting to be ravished in the tavern—they were being guarded by one pirate while the other patrons were forced. What was special about this other person?   
  
He shoved some of his crew aside to regard the scene before him, the two pirates who were arguing furiously over this one person. A young man, possibly a mere teenager, watched them, trembling. His arm was held in a tight grip by one corsair, and his large green eyes were wide with terror. Lestat paused and gazed at the teenager appreciatively.  
  
He was gorgeous; his deep green eyes were set off by wonderfully pale skin, and thick black hair, curling at the ends, that glimmered in the candlelight. His frame was still very boyish, very slim, but cheekbones were becoming prominent in his youthful face. He seemed so innocent and so young against the pirates arguing over him. He couldn’t yet be an adult. Lestat laughed. He would be stunning when fully grown; whoever had him, male or female, would be one lucky bastard. Lestat himself was in his early twenties, and yet he could feel his member stiffening at the thought of dominating such a young and beautiful person.   
  
Well, best to get a head start and taste the goods before they were tainted. Dagmar and Aubenas were still arguing heatedly over the boy, while the other pirate watched him lasciviously. Lestat decided it was time to intervene. “Lads, lads,” laughed Lestat, patting the two men on their shoulders from behind, “there’s an easy way to solve this.”  
  
“Aye?”  
  
“Yes. You two will go and fuck someone else. I’ll have him.”  
  
“Boss—“   
  
“Come on! That’s not fair—“   
  
The protest died on Aubenas’ lips as Lestat fixed him with a glare. He scowled and moved on quickly, Dagmar following in his wake. The other pirate let the teenager go, and Lestat pulled him close. “Now, where shall we do this?” he asked conspiringly.   
  
“Wh—what? I don’t…”   
  
Lestat looked about the tavern. “Alors,” he said, “I fear they haven’t heard of cleaning here. Let’s take this outside.”   
  
He dragged the young man forcibly with him, who was too scared to utter much protest. A couple of horses were tied up outside, and Lestat undid the reins on one. “Get on the horse.” The young man hesitated. “Do it, now.” He said, his voice full of silken threat. He patted his captive’s rump in appreciation as he mounted the horse, then jumped up behind him. He pulled the reins, forcing the boy to lean backwards into him.   
  
The young man trembled in abject terror as Lestat whipped the horse and galloped through the burning town, towards the dark and lonely hillside overlooking it. He wondered miserably if he would survive this night.


	4. The Boy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Non-con in this chapter

They rode for a while, until they were on the hill overlooking the little town, dotted with light and the tell-tale signs of fires burning. Lestat forced the boy to dismount, then did so himself, patting the horse as it began to feed on the grass.   
  
He took his victim forcibly by the back of the neck, pulling one arm behind him, and frogmarched him a little way off. The boy was shaking with fear in his grasp, but did not dare to pull away from him.   
  
Lestat let go of his neck and dusted him down. The boy did not protest. Lestat smirked. “Well, you're compliant. Are you afraid for your family?”  
  
“N…no… Monsieur…” whimpered the boy, turning as Lestat pushed him a little.   
  
“You should be. Don’t you know I’m the infamous pirate, Lestat?”  
  
The boy nodded. “I know.” he said quietly.  
  
“And you’re not scared for your family? Why ever not?”  
  
“We… we don’t live in Narbonne. We live a little further in land.”   
  
“Why were you here, then?” asked Lestat, taking his coat off.   
  
“I… I wanted to get some experience,” said the boy miserably.  
  
Lestat laughed. “You’ll get plenty of that this night.” He put his hands on his hips. “Right, then. Strip.”  
  
“What?”   
  
“Strip for me.”  
  
“Why?” asked the boy.   
  
“Why do you think?” asked Lestat, fascinated as the boy flushed. The red crept up his pale skin and gave his striking features a more delicate air.   
  
“I don’t…” began the boy, looking around.  
  
“Don’t even think of trying to escape,” warned Lestat, “I’d hunt you down and slit your throat.” He nodded as the boy began to tremble more violently, “Now, strip. Or I’ll do it for you.”  
  
The boy reluctantly bent down and removed his shoes. He began to slowly unbutton his vest, then his shirt. Lestat smiled at the sight of the hairless chest, the little brown nipples. “Your breeches now, and be quick about it.”   
The boy sighed and began to undo his breeches, pulling them down reluctantly, then his stockings, until he stood naked before Lestat. He tried to cover himself with his hands.   
  
“Non, non. Put your hands behind your head.” said Lestat throatily, immensely turned on. The boy did so, and he gazed lovingly at the sparse black hair. He looked so innocent, his pale skin so delicate, untouched. “How old are you?” Lestat asked.  
  
“Seventeen,” whispered the boy, a plea in his voice.  
  
Lestat ignored it. He came closer and circled the boy, staring his body up and down. He reached out with a gloved hand and patted his captive's bottom appreciatively, smirking when the boy jumped. He came around to his front again and nodded. "Very nice. I'm going to have some fun with you tonight."   
  
He stripped quickly, feeling himself harden at the thought of ravishing the beautiful youth before him. The boy kept stealing nervous glances at him as he did so. He clapped his hands. “Now, lie down on your back.”  
  
“My back?”  
  
“Oh, yes.”   
  
The boy slowly lowered himself to the ground, sitting up a little as Lestat moved towards him. He gazed at the pirate’s lean, muscled body, golden like a lion. His member was of a good size, bigger than the boy’s, and the pirate’s crotch was dusted with golden hair that glimmered in the starlight.   
  
The boy shuddered. He had, of course, dreamed many a time of taking girls. He had come to the tavern tonight with his friends Phillipe and Gerard to see if he could work up the courage to try one of the waterfront whores. It had been exciting to imagine losing his virginity to them, and Phillipe had egged him on…   
  
He caught a strangled sob in his throat. Gerard had managed to escape when the trouble had started, but Phillipe had been knocked unconscious in the struggling. The boy had been tending to his friend when rough hands had hauled him up and the fighting had begun amongst the pirates about who would take him.   
  
He had been surprised; he had thought they would have left him alone due to his youth and that he was not a woman, but his confusion had turned to abject terror when he realized he wasn’t safe himself. And now this arrogant pirate was treating it as if it were a joke, lowering himself now, leaning over his young captive. He wanted to weep, but swallowed down the tears. He had to be brave.   
  
Lestat hushed him as he forced him to lay back down, utilizing his greater body weight and height to subdue his captive. The boy winced, waiting for the sting of being impaled, but Lestat leaned forward and kissed him on the mouth. The boy shut his eyes as he was kissed along his jaw and face, then further down his throat. Lestat's body against his was muscled and the heat of him, so close, was positively indecent. His senses were aflame at presuming the submissive role. He didn’t know quite what to do. He watched, lost, as Lestat slowly pinched and rubbed his nipples, making them stand on end.   
  
A hand moved between his thighs, forcing his legs apart. He wanted to argue with the pirate, protest that he couldn't possibly allow this, but he was terrified beyond comprehension, out of his depth. He regarded the glittering blue eyes of his captor as Lestat fondled him below. The pirate leaned over and took something out of the coat he had discarded, a bottle of something which he spread across his fingers.   
  
"Kiss me," Lestat demanded.  
  
The boy did as he was told, pecking him on the lips hesitantly.  
  
"No, kiss me properly."   
  
The boy leaned forward again and kissed him fully on the mouth, giving a startled murmur of protest when Lestat slipped a tongue through his lips and violently plundered his mouth. The boy gasped as he pulled away, a trail of saliva between them. He licked his lips as Lestat pulled away. The pirate’s mouth was salty, like the sea, he mused. He had an image of the pirate standing at the prow of his ship, the fearless, savage leader. He moaned in terror and excitement at the thought that the same man lay above him now.   
  
Lestat moved away and let his fingers wander down to his buttocks. He slipped a finger easily inside, penetrating the boy, smirking as his captive gasped and pressed closer to him at the cold sensation of the lubricant, writhing as he added another finger, then another, massaging inside to relax the boy’s tense muscles.   
  
The boy hid his face in the pirate’s shoulder as he was prepared, leaning into him. It charmed Lestat somewhat. He was used to fighting. Women _always_ fought back. They were worse than men, who seemed more terrified of his blade. Or maybe it was that women were more sincere in their rages. They seethed when taken; men were more likely to beg for their lives, but nobody hid their face against him, as if it could block the humiliation out.   
  
He kissed the boy tenderly. “We’re nearly there,” he whispered. The boy did not reply, but pressed himself harder against Lestat’s shoulder when the fingers were taken away and his hot penis began to nudge at the opening. “It’ll hurt, just for a moment…” he said, wondering why he was comforting the boy. He'd damn never cared about his victims' reactions before.   
  
The boy gave a fearful gasp when he felt the swollen head of Lestat's cock rubbing against him. Lestat reached down and pulled his cheeks apart slightly with one hand, guiding the cock into the boy with the other.   
  
"No, please..." whispered the boy, struggling to sit up.   
  
Lestat pushed him back down, gently but firmly. "Yes. Just accept it."   
  
His captive gasped as he was entered, throwing his head back on the grass as Lestat slowly but surely impaled him. He felt himself being stretched mercilessly as Lestat shoved himself in. Surely it wasn't possible? Surely Lestat would never fit? But it did; he felt the head forced into him, slowly followed inch by inch by more of Lestat's organ.  
  
“Just a bit…more…” said Lestat, straining against the tightness of the teenager. The boy began to cry with the pain of the relentless assault, and he wiped the tears away as he ground further into him. For all Lestat's gentle words, the boy knew that the pirate wouldn't show mercy. He hated his own body for giving way to Lestat's demanding cock.   
  
When Lestat was fully within the boy, he stopped, allowing time for his captive to adjust. The boy groaned at the throbbing ache of being impaled by him, shifting uncomfortably until he could bear the pressure of penetration. Lestat pushed a little deeper. “Is that alright?” he asked the boy.  
  
“Yes,” came the muffled reply against his neck.   
  
He laughed, then pulled out nearly all the way, then back in again. The boy held still as he did this again and again, less resisting each time he was impaled. Lestat settled down against him more heavily and began to thrust in and out slowly, gently. As the tension increased, he began to build up a rhythm, and the boy, gasping, moved his head back and lay it on the grass.  
  
The boy looked up to Lestat, watching as he moved back and forth, thrusting into him as his handsome face was framed by the stars. The stars glittered silently above, the sole witnesses to his ravishment. He hated them then for their cold, uncaring light.   
  
He closed his eyes against their brightness as Lestat thrust into him harder and harder, taking his virginity with each masterful stroke. His back itched terribly as he was pushed and pulled against the grass, more furiously as the thrusts got harder. He unconsciously splayed his hands across the pirate’s buttocks, feeling the snapping tautness of the muscles as Lestat moved in and out.   
  
There was still that edge of terrible pain, a stinging as he was raped, though soon the pain gave way to fear-tinged pleasure, coursing throughout his body as he began to feel he was reaching a peak. He looked up at Lestat again, who was sweating with the exertion and shaking slightly as he crested to his own peak.   
  
The boy whimpered as Lestat repeatedly hit a part of him that seemed to grow tighter and tighter, like a drawn bowstring. His belly muscles seemed to clench, painfully. He gave out a sudden cry as he orgasmed. He spasmed against Lestat’s organ, and then Lestat himself came with a cry, spurting a warm, soothing liquid deep inside him. The pirate held him down as he gave one, two brutal shoves that hurt, emptying his seed deep into the boy.   
  
The boy was trembling in his arms as Lestat withdrew, awed and scared. The boy winced as Lestat's softening cock was slowly pulled out of him. He hated the uncomfortable sensation of warm semen escaping his sore ass to drip down his legs. Nobody had ever warned him about that. Then again, he thought darkly, nobody could have forseen him being fucked like a whore in some lonely field.   
  
Lestat held him close for a moment, kissing him breathlessly. The boy hardly dared move. _That was it?_ That was the great build-up of his teenage longing, all those stories, all those fantasies? A couple of minutes of pain, being hammered at in the most undignified manner ending in this wetness oozing down his legs and a vague ache?   
  
Lestat pulled away. “How was that? Better than your first time?”  
  
The boy wiped away his tears. “It _was_ my first time.”   
  
“Really?” Lestat laughed. “My, you’re old for that. If we’d grown up together, I’d have—“  
  
“Well, we didn’t,” said the boy. He winced as he closed his legs, sure that he would be bruised. “Can I go now?”   
  
“Not yet.”   
  
“Can I put my clothes back on?”  
  
Lestat shrugged. “Of course.”  
  
The boy hastily dressed himself as Lestat began gathering scrub from the foliage around them. He sat down and watched as Lestat lit a small fire, his handsome but ruthless face lit by the flickering light of the fire. The pirate took something from his coat pocket and began to warm it in the fire.   
  
“What will you do after this?” he asked.  
  
“What will _I_ do?” asked the boy.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“I… go home. To my family.” His heart grew heavy at the thought of explaining anything to his mother, or his sister, or his tender little brother, who would be full of questions. The pirate smirked. “What will you do?” asked the boy.   
“Hurt some more people?”  
  
“Most likely, yes.” Lestat turned to him. “My, but you’re a strange creature. What’s your name?”  
  
“I—“  
  
The boy cringed as he heard the galloping of hooves drumming closer and closer. He prayed it was someone come to rescue him from the corsair, sighing inwardly as Lestat jumped up to fight, relaxing noticeably after a moment.  
  
“Daniel!” he said, “how the hell did you find me here?”   
  
The other man dismounted his horse. “I saw you making off towards here. I finally found you by the light of the fire. So, what were you doing?” He glanced at the boy. “I needn’t ask.”   
  
“It’s been fun,” said Lestat. He turned to the boy. “Hasn’t it?” The boy stayed silent, glaring at him.   
  
“Can I have him next?” asked Daniel. He walked over to the fire and sat down next to it, warming his hands.   
Lestat turned to the boy, who quailed under his stare. He gazed at him for a long moment, assessing. “What do you think, petit?” he asked the teenager.   
  
“Please… please don’t hurt me any more. I’m only young, Monsieur, please.”   
  
Daniel shook his head and was about to move towards the boy, but Lestat stayed him with a hand. “Let him alone, Daniel.”   
  
“What?”   
  
“Leave him alone.”   
  
“You’re kidding, right?” asked Daniel.   
  
Lestat shook his head soberly. “No.” He picked up the metal implement, then walked over to the boy. “Lie back down again.”  
  
“Please—“  
  
“Lie back down.”  
  
The boy did as he was told, shuddering as his shirt was lifted up again. He prayed that he wouldn’t be forced into intercourse again. Lestat held him down. “Now,” he said, “don’t struggle, or you could injure yourself more.”   
The boy nodded, uncomprehending, only to buck and whine as something sharp and hot was pressed against his skin with a hiss. He cried out in pain as it was held there against his immobile body for a moment, then Lestat pulled away.   
  
“What did do you?” gasped the boy.  
  
“Branded you, petit,” said Lestat. He turned to Daniel. “Let’s go. I tire of this place.”   
  
“But—you can’t just leave me here—“   
  
Lestat undid his cloak, draping it around the boy’s slim shoulders. “Here, take my cloak.” He was bemused to see that angry glare the boy was fixing him with. “Don’t look at me like that. You’re a man, now! Go and take some beautiful girl the way I took you. You know what it’s like to be ravished now… it’ll make you a better man!” He slapped the boy on the shoulders jovially, before mounting his horse as Daniel did his, and galloping down the hillside, back to his ship and his plunder.


	5. Louis

The boy limped his way back down the hill, and wandered through the town in a daze. Lots of buildings had been burnt down; some people were wailing, others trying to help the wounded. There was a pyre in one part where a few dead pirates were slung, people spitting on their corpses.  
  
  
  
The boy made his way out of Narbonne, and back to his family home on the outskirts of the town. He tidied himself up before he entered his family’s estate, making sure to walk tall and hide his injuries.   
  
  
  
As he walked to the great family home, he was met by a child of about seven, who came running up to him. “Louis, Louis!” he cried, “where have you been? Maman was so worried! She said there were pirates in town and—“  
  
  
  
“Be quiet, Paul,” said a female voice, and Louis’ sister descended from the porch of the house. “Are you all right, Louis?”  
  
  
  
“Yes, yes,” he murmured. “I had to hide away for the night when the pirates attacked. But I’m fine. I’m alive, aren’t I?”  
  
  
  
She nodded and let him enter the house. His mother approached him and scolded him for a while; he should know better than to stay out; didn’t he know she had worried about him? What would she have done if he had been killed? He knew that now papa was dead, he had to be the man of the house.   
  
  
  
He bore it all, then, pulling away from her, made his way upstairs to his rooms. He shut the door firmly behind him, gratified to see that the maid had been in and cleaned the room up. He threw himself down on the bed and curled up into a ball.   
  
  
  
He shifted slightly at the dull sting that coursed through him when he turned onto his side. He rolled back over and pulled up his shirt, gazing at the dark little mark, in the shape of a lion, forever branded into the soft skin of his abdomen. Anger surged through him at the violation, somehow worse than the rape.I have had you. He couldn’t think straight, his brain a mass of boiling fury, the blood acid in his veins. Forget the helpless terror he had felt the previous night. He had been nothing but a boy then, a frightened boy out of his depth.   
  
  
  
Today, in the cold light of morning, he knew, finally, he was a man. An angry, vengeful man.   
  
  
  
“Louis,” called his mother, “are you sure you’re all right?”  
  
  
  
“Oui, maman,” he said, “I’ll be all right.”   
  
  
  
His hand curled into a fist. He swallowed the fury down. He would have his revenge on that arrogant blond pirate. One day, he would have his revenge.


	6. The Gendarme

Eight years later…

The tavern was packed full tonight. The middle-aged landlady watched the gathering crowd wearily, but pleased that she might have good takings. She served up a carafe of wine and handed it to one of the young waitresses, a girl from the Narbonne town called Celine. The girl dutifully took it over to the patron, then returned with the money he paid.

“Celine,” murmured the woman, busying herself with cleaning some glasses, “are you ever going to serve that young man over there?”

The girl followed her gaze to a table where a young man, dressed in the blue cloak and hat of the gendarmes—the port police, waited. Celine excused herself, and scurried over to take her order. The woman frowned. “Lazy girl,” she muttered. She looked past the girl to where the young man was staring at her intently. She glowered at him for making her feel jumpy.

Celine wrote his order down, then came back over. “Madame, he says he wishes to speak to you.”

The woman grew annoyed. “You tell him if that if he wishes to speak with me, he will come over here. I’m not at the beck and call of any man, not even the police.”

Celine giggled. “I bet it’s about that brawl the other night.”

“Likely. Typical of the gendarmes; arriving three nights after the event. He’s probably shocked that they didn’t wait around to be arrested.” She shook her head. “Go and give him the message, Celine.”

She watched as the gendarme stood up and walked over to the bar, while Celine sauntered off to flirt with more patrons. She straightened up as he came nearer, watching him carefully. The young man was of a good height and build, very handsome, slim. She saw locks of unruly curly black hair escaping from under his cap. She refused to be taken in by the depth of his startling green eyes.

“Severine Trenet?” he asked, resting his arms on the bar. He glanced about to check nobody was listening in.

“…Yes?”

“I’m making some enquiries.”

She sighed. “Look, the brawl was three—“

“It’s not about that.”

“What, then?”

He lowered his voice. “I’m making enquiries about an incident that occurred a few years ago. The sinking of the merchant ship Etoile.”

She bristled. “What about it?”

“You were on that ship.”

“Ah, it’s you!” she cried angrily, “the nosy gendarme who has questioned all my friends about that damned ship and those pirates. What do you want?”

“To talk.” He paused. “Is there anywhere private we can go?”

“You’re pushing your luck.”

“Please, Madame.” He asked politely, but there was a tone of stubbornness to his voice.

Severine hesitated, realizing he was not likely to leave without talking to her. “All right. Come through and I’ll talk to you.”

She led him through to the back of the bar, then turned to face him. She refused to be charmed by his beauty and his gently pleading demeanour. She wagged a finger in his face. “Now, let me tell you, young man—“

“Louis.”

“Let me tell you, Louis. If you go around asking these questions all the time, you’ll wind up dead. People are already starting to talk. Lestat has a lot of friends in the town.”

“I know.”

“Well, good. Get going.”

“Wait,” said the young man, pulling her back gently, “I need to talk to you.”

Severine scowled at him, her pretty face marred with anger and contempt. “You want notoriety as the man who captured the pirate Lestat. That’s what you want.”

“No,” he said, “you couldn’t be more wrong.”

She glared at him, into his sincere green eyes. “I… I don’t know that I can trust you.”

The young man gazed at her for a moment, then began to lift up his shirt. She moved backwards, ready to scream out if he tried anything funny. He shushed her, then held his shirt up so she could see his abdomen. “Do you trust me now?” he asked.

She moved forward and ran her fingers over the lion-shaped scar. “Come with me.” She whispered.

He smoothed his shirt back down and followed her as she picked up a lantern and led the way up the rickety wooden stairs to the bedrooms above. She led him into a little parlour and bade him sit down. She sat in the chair opposite.

“My husband,” she said, “he was a lot like you. Refined and handsome. Those bastards threw him overboard while he was still twitching from the sword in his gut. One of our friends tried to save him, but he was dragged beneath the waves.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be. It was a long time ago.” She frowned. “What on earth did he do to you?”

Louis lowered his head. “It doesn’t really matter. What matters is revenge.”

“Revenge! Pah! And what do you expect to do?”

He looked up. “Don’t scoff. Don’t you want revenge, too?”

“Oui, I want revenge,” she snapped, “but what are you going to do? You’re obviously not strong enough to take that monster on. He’s as likely to hurt you again as run you through.”

“Yes,” agreed Louis. “Yes, he is.” He smiled. “Therefore, any help you could give me would be gratefully received.”

“I can’t help you with much. I can only tell you where he is. Well, where the sailors who frequent the tavern say he is.”

Louis took her hand in his. “Tell me, Madame. I intend to track him down, anyway. All you will do is save me some time.”

Severine sighed. She squeezed his hand, and gazed out of the window into the inky night for a long moment. Louis waited patiently, his heart struck by the sense of noble pain she bore well. She turned back to him. “It’s… it’s known here, by the patrons… some of them are fellow pirates, you see. Some of them are even former crew. That’s why I warn you to be careful.

“The French coastal guards are stepping down on pirate activity. They’ve destroyed four pirate ships in the last few months. It’s not safe for them to lay low anymore, even the ones that only take the Spanish and British ships.” She frowned. “The talk is, Lestat’s crew lay low over the dark winter months. They’re supposed to be in the port of Cartagena now, waiting for the spring winds before they set sail again. I don’t know what they’ll do, then.”

Louis smiled. “Thank you, Severine. You have been a great help to me.”

Severine stood up, and he instinctively followed. She smiled as his gentlemanly ways. “I’d tell you not to risk it, but you have that same gleam in your eye my husband did the day he tried to fight back. She kissed him on both cheeks. “Godspeed, Monsieur. Don’t let him destroy you.”


	7. Cartagena

February, and Lestat was restless. He was tiring of Cartagena, as happy as he was to benefit from the French-Spanish tension at the time which meant he went untouched in the port city.

The winter storms in the Mediterranean effectively meant that they were stuck for at least another couple of weeks on dry land. He frowned, annoyed. He should have just gone to Africa, or the Far East. He could be out on the open seas now instead of sitting around in this hellish port.

He sat on the harbor, watching the sun set over the sea. He wanted so much to be out there, amongst the roiling waves, the stars and the wind. He scowled and picked up a rock, throwing it into the turquoise waters. He watched the people going by, some at the market on the harbor, some walking down the strand. He glanced towards his ship dreamily, and started. He could see the silhouette of a person skulking by his ship. The stranger looked as if he were inspecting the vessel, the way he stared at it.

He jumped up, nervously. Port police? Special investigators? He growled. “Hey, you there!” he snarled, running over with one hand ready on his sword. He had shouted in French, and wasn't happy to hear the other man reply in the same language. A spy, perhaps? A gendarme?

“Yes, Monsieur?” asked the stranger, turning.

Lestat came storming up to the over-curious man, only to find himself struck dumb at the sight before him. The stranger smiled politely. “Have I offended you?” he asked the pirate.

Lestat swallowed, tongue-tied. The sheer beauty of the man before him was incredible. How had he missed this gorgeous creature in the months he had been in relatively small Cartagena? Such soulful green eyes, hair of the blackest silk that made Lestat want to reach out and touch it. A strong, lithe young body and graceful bearing.

There was an air of sadness about the man that he had never encountered before. His perfect face was marred by little creases near his eyebrows, as if he had spent a great deal of time worrying and grieving. He had a facade of rigid, tempered bearing, but Lestat could see a certain vulnerability in his eyes. His mind reeled, trying to connect with some thought of memory of green sadness from years past.

“Do I know you?”

The young man seemed to tremble for a moment, then drew himself up. "I doubt it."

Lestat raised an eyebrow. "Then why the interest in my vessel?"

The man smiled, amused. "Is it a crime to admire something so beautiful?"

He grinned. "I suppose not." He ran his eyes over the stranger's supple body. "No, most definitely not."

"Then I shall be on my way," said the stranger lightly. He moved to push past Lestat.

The pirate reached out and touched his shoulder gently. "Wait. You're French."

"Yes."

"There aren't so many Frenchmen around here. Why are you in Cartagena?"

The man shrugged. "Again, is it a crime?"

"I don't mean it like that. I mean, it's nice to speak the language with someone other than my crew. I mean, it's... I mean, how long are you staying here? Do you live here?"

"I'm on a grand tour," said the other man, "I expect I'll be leaving the city soon."

Lestat nodded. "Then you should do me the honor of joining me for a drink tonight. Just for a tete-a-tete, you know."

"I don't know..."

"Well," he said, perplexed (how many hints did this man need!) "how long have you been here?"

“I arrived last week.”

“Then you can’t have seen much of it,” said Lestat, “you need a guide to show you around.”

An amused smile. “Perhaps.”

“I could be that guide.”

The man regarded him for a long moment. “You look like a pirate." he said shortly.

Well, Lestat was never one to shy away from his greatest claim to fame. “Of course I am! You must have heard of me; the infamous pirate Lestat.”

The man shrugged. “No.”

“But I’m famous!” snapped Lestat, stung. He had expected awe, not indifference.

“Good for you.” The man gazed towards the city as the old cathedral chimed the hour. “I have to be going now.”

Lestat reached out a hand and pulled him back, gently. “Wait! Will you join me? Tonight?"

The man sighed. He regarded the pirate for a long moment. At last, he nodded. "All right. One drink. I'll see you at La Gata Negra - you know it?"

"Yes."

"At La Gata Negra tonight." he turned to go.

"Wait!" said Lestat again, "What’s your name?”

The young man smiled. “Louis.”

“Louis? Nice name.”

The strangest thing happened at those few words. The other man seemed caught up in a tumult -- of what? Pain? Rage? It was the quickest flash across his eyes, a hardening of the mouth. And just as quickly, it was gone. Lestat shook his head; he'd obviously imagined it.

Louis smiled, nodding. "All right. Tonight, Lestat."

He turned from the pirate and started to walk back to his hotel. He tried to swallow down the sour grimace that his smile faded into. Work accomplished; he had made contact with the pirate. He would just force himself to endure the arrogant man for a while longer. It would be worth it in the end. He fingered the pistol concealed in his coat. It would all be worth it.


	8. The Plan

The sunlight glimmered through the headquarters of the French port police based in Cartagena. The old man blinked at it as he frowned and listened to the enthusiastic young Frenchman tell him about his plans to capture the infamous pirate Lestat.  
  
“Don’t you see, Monsieur Talbot,” said Louis excitedly, “this is the chance to bring that criminal to justice. No more pillaging, no more hurting the people of the Mediterranean—“  
  
The man held up a hand. “I’ve told you, call me David. I’m your friend as well as your advisor, Louis. And I tell you this; you’re getting in over your head.”  
  
Louis smiled. “No, I can handle myself. Really.”  
  
David sighed. “Louis, I know him. I’ve had run-ins with him myself. He only suffered me to live through some dark amusement of his. Perhaps I'll have to atone for that someday. But Lestat -- he is _not_ give to mercy as a matter of course. He's a ruthless bastard. Don’t do this. Don’t get too cocky.”  
  
“I won’t. I'll play him at his own game."  
  
“And what if he charms you?” David demanded. “Ah, you look at me like that, but it’s happened before. And do you know what happened to the last of our officers who fell for him?”  
  
Louis cast him a tired look. “What?”  
  
“He ended up cast into the seas. The sharks made short work of him.”  
  
Louis bristled. “I assure you, this won’t happen with me, David. I hate him. I'll never let my guard down around him."  
  
“Hate is also an emotion, you know. Hatred makes a person do silly things.”  
  
“Have I ever let the gendarmes down?” demanded Louis.  
  
“That’s beside the point!” said David, exasperated. “Louis, do you really think the Spanish are bothered about Lestat? They let him dock here, for goodness’ sake! They’re as likely to give you up to him than help you. Spain and France are going through diplomatic difficulties at the moment, you know.”  
  
“I don’t care. I know what’s right. What’s right is that pirate be brought to justice.”  
  
“Louis,” pleaded David, “call it off. I don’t want to see you hurt.”  
  
Louis shrugged. “I can’t.”  
  
“Why are you so determined to get him that you will risk your career—hell, your life for this?” snapped David.  
  
“I can’t tell you, David,” said Louis sadly, “my fate is bound up with this bastard, I know it. And all I can ask is that you try and trust me.”  
  
“I do,” sighed David, “but though I know it will make no difference, I beg you to reconsider. Listen to an old man and humor him. I know what I’m talking about.”  
  
“I know you do,” said Louis, standing up and putting his hat back on, “but I can’t let this go. I’m sorry. I’ll sort this out, I promise.”  
  
David shook his head. “Well, I hope that you remember—I tried to warn you.”  
  
“And you remember that I said I will get him. And I will.”


	9. Seduction

Louis gazed about the Gata Negra tavern anxiously. It was quite quiet at this hour, and he assumed it would be for a while, being tucked away on a side street just off the port. He had been waiting in the tavern for nearly an hour, and still there was no sign of Lestat.  
  
He began to wonder if the pirate had been playing a cruel game with him. He wouldn’t put it past him. He thought of the arrogant way Lestat had addressed him, and rage surged in his heart:   
  
_What's your name? It's a beautiful name._   
  
You never asked me that when you were raping me, you bastard!   
  
He scowled. He forced himself to try and remain calm.  
  
He wondered whether he could trust the people in the tavern. They looked decent enough, but they could easily be spies for the pirate. What if Lestat had guessed his intentions? What if the pirate had recognized him? He glanced about, nervously. The other patrons were talking easily enough, but they were speaking in rapid Spanish, and he was not fluent enough in the language to catch much of the conversation.  
  
Just as he was wondering whether he should leave, the door opened and the pirate Lestat stood in the doorway. He looked magnificent tonight, deliberately dressed to seduce, with a sumptuous red coat and his golden hair glimmering in the light of the tavern. He walked over to Louis, wearing an arrogant smile.   
  
_He deliberately arrived late to get me anxious to see him,_ Louis thought furiously. In his twenty-five years, he had seen every technique under the sun as countless people had tried to trick him into bed. He scowled. Idiot pirate, thinking he could try his tricks on him. He looked up as Lestat came to sit beside him and smiled. “Hello.”  
  
“Why, hello,” said Lestat, “fancy seeing you here." He gestured to the glass in Louis's hand. "Were you waiting for me before you started?"  
  
Louis clutched at the glass of ginger ale. "No. I don't drink alcohol."   
  
"Nonsense!" He clicked his fingers at the barmaid. “A good bottle of tempranillo, if you please.” He said in Spanish. She nodded and hurried over with an open bottle and some glasses.  
  
Louis frowned. “I told you! I don’t drink.”   
  
“I didn’t quite believe you.” said Lestat.  
  
“Well, it’s true. I don’t.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
The smile froze on Louis’ face. “Because I don’t.”   
  
“Poor Louis. You don’t know what you’re missing out on.”  
  
He scowled. “I most certainly do. I'll stay with my ginger ale, thank you."  
  
Lestat watched him, fascinated. What a contrary man! He loved the stubborn expression in Louis’ eyes, the way his moods flitted so smoothly across that gorgeous face. He laughed. “So. Tell me about yourself.”  
  
~  
  
A couple of hours passed in the tavern. Lestat loved it. He tried to question Louis about himself, but Louis was reticent on that subject. Lestat told Louis about his adventures at sea, taking care to try and omit some of his darker dealings, then he turned his attention to everything he could think of: politics, the weather, the revolution. He was both infuriated and intrigued that Louis seemed to disagree with just about everything he said, his reticence dropping away as he argued passionately about Voltaire’s influence on the republic. Lestat didn’t have the faintest clue what Louis was going on about, but he loved to watch the animated expressions across his face as he got caught up in the passion of his argument.  
  
By the end of the night, he was half in love with him and determined that this had to go further. When they left the tavern a while later, to stand talking in a quiet street with the occasional person wandering past, he decided to move things on. Lestat de Lioncourt didn’t wait around long for fate. He liked to push things forward himself.   
  
“So,” he said, “where from here?”  
  
Louis raised an eyebrow. “Do you want to come back to my lodgings?”  
  
Lestat laughed. “How very forward of you!”  
  
“I didn’t promise anything!” said Louis, annoyed.  
  
“Be that as it may. A pirate uses his ship for security. Sorry, my friend. I don’t go anywhere the gendarmes might be able to corner me.”  
  
Louis flushed. “Then, what?”  
  
“Come back with me to my ship.”  
  
“No!” Louis glared. “What do you take me for, Lestat?”  
  
Lestat smirked. “Well, then. We’re at a crossroads.” He leaned forward, and Louis shrank back, his hand flying to the sword at his side. Before he could draw it, Lestat had placed a tender kiss on his cheek. Louis froze, his hand still around the handle of the sword.  
  
Lestat’s eyes were dark as he pulled back. He brought a hand up and caressed the cheek he had kissed. “Same time tomorrow night?”  
  
“I…” Louis frowned, unable to think clearly. He was burning from the kiss, from rage and pleasure and confusion. He wished Lestat would try and attack him, if only for the reason it would compel him to spring forward and draw his sword, chance be damned. He sighed. “All right.”  
  
He forgot to breathe as Lestat leaned forward again, this time kissing him full on the mouth. He didn’t linger, but pulled away, smiling. “It’s a deal.”  
  
Louis watched as he turned and walked away, back towards the harbor. What to do? He had to convince Lestat to come with him to a secluded place, somewhere he could fight on his own terms. He frowned. He would just have to convince him. He rubbed the part of his cheek where Lestat had kissed him, then his mouth. “I hate you,” he said softly. "I will kill you. I won't let this go on."  
  
His voice echoed in the little street, sounding very alone and very uncertain.


	10. Resolution

They met up several times over the next couple of weeks, sometimes just looking out at the harbor and talking for hours, or just walking along the promenade, the stars glittering overhead. They were debating some thing or another one night, and Lestat found that a simple look from those beautiful green eyes sent him spinning.   
  
He laughed, dizzy with the strange sensations pounding through him. He wanted to ravish this delightful creature. He wanted to hold him carefully. He wanted to dominate him. He wanted to protect him. He wanted to listen to what he had to say. He wanted to silence him with a kiss.   
  
_I’m in love_ , thought Lestat with astonishment, glancing at the man walking at his side. He had only ever loved one other person in this way before; Nicki, his childhood friend who had been killed in the ongoing struggles.   
  
He had lived savagely since then, plundering and raping wherever he wanted. But being near Louis made him want to be different. He felt ashamed to let Louis know anything of his true actions, the things he had done, because he wanted Louis to think him good. It was important that he try and live up to this man’s expectations, and he didn’t know why.   
  
And God, he _wanted_ him. He could just carry Louis off, he reasoned. He could keep him in his rooms and have him whenever he wanted. But he didn’t want that. He wanted Louis to come of his own free will. He wanted Louis at his side, his partner, his mate. He wanted Louis to run those smooth hands over him and soothe him whenever things went wrong. The man was a balm to his nerves. He awakened something in Lestat - conscience.  
  
~  
  
Louis, for his part, was growing more and more anxious. He had had three clear opportunities to avenge himself on this man so far, and each time, his resolve had failed. He had thought of nothing else but striking Lestat down all these years. He had dreamed of shooting him, of making him beg and giving him no mercy as Lestat had refused to show him all those years ago.   
  
But Lestat kept defying his notions of a relentlessly evil man. He was polite, and considerate if he wanted to be. He wasn’t as stupid as Louis had thought—he couldn’t read well, but he could debate for hours. He hadn’t tried to force himself on the gendarme, though Louis always waited for the moment so he could feel justified in killing him.   
  
He sighed, and forced himself to smile at Lestat as they walked, his heart a mass of pain. He had to do it. He couldn’t move on with his life if this bastard walked away. He would do it soon.   
  
~  
  
Louis came to regret delaying his decision. Severine’s warning proved timely: people talked in these ports. People tended to side with the pirates, for money or esteem, or both.   
  
Everything came to a head the night he finally decided: this night, he would kill Lestat. He spent the day running each scenario through his head; he would stab him as they walked; he would go somewhere secluded and do away with him. He had once thought he would be happy to die for the cause, but, after all the pain of his brother’s death… he gaze at himself in the little mirror above his cabinet. He owed it to Paul to live. He owed it to Paul to try to be good. Paul would surely understand; this way, one death would save more throughout the years.  
  
He frowned. Paul would understand him. Wouldn’t he?   
  
His green eyes looked back at him, resolute, afraid. He had packed up his possessions; as soon as the deed was done, he would head back to France and become the polite young gendarme again. He took out his coat and, in the inside pockets, placed a pistol that was bulky and heavy, but which the coat concealed quite well. He would not take his sword tonight—it might be too obvious—so he instead secreted a dagger in the side of his breeches.   
  
He tried to write David a letter, to explain, but he could not bring himself to write the words. Best to get it over and done with. He took one last glance at himself in the mirror, then left to meet Lestat at the harbor.


	11. Betrayal

That night, Lestat brought him back to the Gata Negra tavern, and Louis tried uneasily to fit in amongst the rough and dangerous people who made up Lestat’s crew. A lot of them were there that night, and he found himself sitting at a table with Lestat and another pirate he recognized from the time Lestat had raped him on that hill. His heart was in his mouth the entire time. He prayed Daniel would not recognize him as he had the other pirate.

As luck would have it, the first thing Daniel said after they were introduced was, “Do I know you? You look familiar.”

Louis glanced at Lestat, who had narrowed his eyes. Had he guessed? But Lestat only said, “don’t be silly, Daniel. He doesn’t run with ruffians like us.”

“Then why is he with you?” challenged Daniel.

“Because he wants me,” said Lestat. His voice was jovial, but Louis wondered if he were serious. His gaze was sober and hopeful.

They talked a while longer, Louis losing himself in his thoughts as Daniel and Lestat discussed shipping news, the weather for sailing and provisions they had been arranging for the sailing soon. He was wondering if he should call it a night and try and get Lestat to come back with him when a voice turned his blood cold.

“I know you. You’re a gendarme! Louis de Pointe du Lac.”

Louis looked up in horror at the two men standing above him. One was a grizzled old man he recognized from Narbonne. What the hell was he doing here?

Daniel gazed at Louis in astonishment. “Are you sure, Marcel?”

“Marcel doesn’t lie,” said the other man testily.

“Of course not, Eric,” said Daniel, “But… are you sure?”

Marcel nodded. “Yes. He’s one of the young recruits there. What are you doing in Cartagena?” he asked suspiciously.

“What are _you_ doing here?” challenged Louis in return, his heart racing.

Daniel looked at Lestat. “Perhaps that’s where I know him from,” he murmured. He gestured for the man and his friend to sit down.

Lestat laughed. “A gendarme, eh? So you know David Talbot.”

“Of course,” said Louis, puzzled at his lack of concern.

“He’s a good man. I suppose he told you of what happens to cocky little agents who think they can take me on?” he added, a tone of menace lacing his voice.

“Yes," said Louis. "He also told me about what happened to the last person who fell for you.”

“So you’ve fallen for me?”

“I didn’t say that!” cried Louis indignantly.

“Of course not.”

“You’re such an arrogant bastard.”

“Why, thank you.” Lestat frowned. “Why didn’t you tell me you were a gendarme?”

“Would _you_ tell a pirate that if you were in my position?” asked Louis.

Lestat laughed. “I suppose not.” He patted him on the shoulder. Marcel glared at Louis distrustfully. “Now,” said Lestat, “my crew and I are leaving soon, Louis. And you still haven’t drunk to our health.”

“I told you,” said Louis for what felt like the thousandth time, “I don’t drink.”

“One little drink won’t hurt you,” said Lestat.

“It will.”

“You know, Louis,” he said softly, staring at his glass, “I don’t know that I can trust a gendarme who always stays sharp sober while I let my guard down.”

Louis understood the implied threat. Lestat didn’t trust him fully. He frowned. His entire plan could fall apart because of this one thing. _What to do_? “You don’t understand, Lestat,” he said miserably, uncaring that the others were listening in. “There…” he swallowed. “My brother… he died. A few years ago. I started drinking. Far too much. I used it to cover the grief. I don’t trust myself with alcohol. I become dependent upon it.”

Lestat smirked. “I understand. But a little drink won’t hurt you. And it will quell this nagging voice I have in my head, Louis. The nagging voice says _why won’t he let his guard down_?” He paused and cast Louis a dangerous smile. “Well, will you? One drink, for this man you love?”

Louis sighed. He watched as Daniel poured a small amount of wine into his glass. He forced himself to remain calm, then drank the lot in one go.

Lestat laughed, delighted that Louis had wanted to prove himself. He clapped him on the back. “How was that?”

Louis smiled. “Fine.” He paused, running his tongue gently over his bottom lip, tasting the wine spilt there. His senses were alive. The warm tang of the wine coated his throat and made him heady. His hands trembled. He couldn’t leave it there. He was so, so thirsty. Daniel smirked and poured him more wine. He didn't argue. He reached for the glass again. One more drink. It wouldn't hurt.


	12. Daniel

Daniel chuckled, shaking his head. “I tell you, that was a dirty trick on the part of Lestat.”

“The gendarme could have stopped drinking.” said Eric.

“Lestat hardly tried to stop him,” said Marcel, “I thought Louis was going collapse.”

Daniel winked. “Well, it’s as good an excuse as any to “walk him home.”

“He was out of it,” laughed Marcel, “look! He’s left his overcoat here.” He patted the chair where Louis’ coat lay, forgotten.

“I bet Lestat’s having his way with him right now,” said Eric, “then maybe he’ll do us all a favor and drop the gendarme. I don’t trust him.”

“Lestat knows what he’s doing,” said Daniel. “And I wouldn’t be surprised if he brings this Louis one with us when we sail tomorrow. He’s infatuated, you know.”

“I know,” said Eric, “that’s what bothers me. He might slip up with the gendarme.”

“He won’t.” said Daniel. He turned to Marcel. “Do you know where this Louis one comes from?”

“Yeah,” said Marcel, “he lives near my family home. He’s from Narbonne.”

Daniel frowned. That couldn’t be right… he seemed so familiar… but they hadn’t been in Narbonne for years now. God, eight years. He thought back to that night they had pillaged the town, and had had to stay away for years afterwards because the French coastguards stepped up their patrol.

A pity. It had been a good haul. Not that Lestat had been too bothered. He had been preoccupied up on that hill with some handsome boy. And, Daniel thought, annoyed, he had refused to let him touch the little urchin. He remembered the curious way the boy’s eyes had reflected the firelight. He had thought it was a trick of the light, the way they seemed to glisten like emeralds. But no, the boys’ eyes had been that green, like cats’ eyes in the night, but with such a soulful expression. He hadn’t seen such a tempting gaze like that in a long while, not until—

He dropped his beer. “Fuck!” he cried, standing up. “Where the hell did Lestat go again?”

The barmaid shrugged. “Back with that man to his place, I presume.”

“Oh, dammit!” He pulled out his pistol. “I’ll kill that sneaky little bastard!” So saying, he ran for the door and was off down the street, in search of his captain.


	13. The Ship

Louis groaned drunkenly. The street lurched before him. He stumbled, ready to fall, and strong arms wrapped around him and steadied him. He laughed, leaning into the embrace. “I f’got m’ coat,” he mumbled.  
  
“One of the others will return it. Don’t worry—we’re not that much thieves, you know.”  
  
Louis nodded. He was guided along a cobbled street, past trees and houses, his feet following where he was guided. He could hear a bell in the distance, and looked about as they came to a standstill.   
  
He looked up, struggling to take it all in. “This is a ship.” he said.  
  
“Yes.”   
  
He groaned. “A pirate ship.”   
  
“Yes.”  
  
“I don’t like… I don’t want…” he trailed off, closing his eyes. So tired. His head was killing him.   
  
Lestat soothed him. “Shh. Don’t worry, I’ll look after you. I promise.” He placed an arm behind Louis’ knees and one behind his back, hefting him up like a child. “I won’t hurt you. Not you.”   
  
Louis allowed himself to be carried, struggling to regain his senses as the cold night air hit him. He felt vaguely sick. What a fool he was, drinking that much. Somebody nearby said “what a looker, captain”, but he did not know who, nor did he hear Lestat’s reply. A door was kicked open, and he blinked against the warm light of a cabin.   
  
He closed his eyes for a long moment, and when he next opened them, he was laying on his back on a large, soft bed. He sighed contentedly. “I just…need to rest…” he murmured, keeping one foot on the floor to stop the room spinning.  
  
“Of course.”   
  
He closed his eyes again and rested for a while, his senses starting to sharpen a little more with each passing minute. He had drunk alcohol, and far too much, he realized. What an idiot he had been. Thankfully Lestat hadn't tried anything funny. He dimly heard Lestat moving about the room, then leaving and closing the door behind him. The pirate talked outside to a couple of men; he could hear their voices. Something about provisions and sailing weather. He shifted slightly, glad that the room had finally stopped spinning and he didn’t feel so…numb.   
  
He rested a while further, and then he heard the door open and close again. There was a weight on the bed beside him, and he opened his eyes, startled to peer into stormy blue eyes that watched him affectionately. He murmured some token phrase as Lestat leaned forward and stroked his hair back, kissing his forehead. He felt those lips kiss his cheek, then his lips, slipping past his open mouth and tasting his tongue. He shuddered with pleasure, moaning softly as he was kissed along his jawline and then his neck.   
  
There was a comfortable weight on him. He purred with pleasure, resting his hands against a broad chest as he was kissed, his senses alive. Then the weight was gone, and he was being made to sit up. He blinked against the light, shielding his eyes to look at Lestat.  
  
“What—“ he murmured.   
  
“Shh,” said Lestat, caressing the nape of his neck, “it’ll be all right.”   
  
Louis leaned into his embrace as he felt his cravat being removed. A hand opened his vest and slipped inside his shirt to caress his chest. He sighed with pleasure, but some dim part of his brain felt uneasy. There was a warning, somewhere. He had to… he couldn’t allow something. Something to do with his clothes. He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts.   
  
His shirt was slowly unbuttoned, and he shuddered, feeling something bad was coming. Damn the wine—what was it? His left nipple was being rubbed firmly by the pad of one of Lestat’s thumbs, and he felt the excitement crash through him. His shirt was being opened by the other hand, his chest and abdomen being kneaded gently—  
  
His abdomen.   
  
“Non!” he gasped, but even as his eyes widened, he saw the amazed expression in Lestat’s eyes and knew the game was up.   
  
“What,” said Lestat evenly, gazing at the lion-shaped mark, “is this?”  
  
Louis froze. His blood ran cold, his head a mass of pounding thoughts: _No, no. This can’t be happening. No. He’s going to kill me. Oh, why did I… oh, God._ “I… wait, I can explain.”  
  
“Well, of course you can, beautiful one,” said Lestat, his voice cold. Louis looked at Lestat and shuddered. His eyes were like stone. “It appears we have met before. And it appears, my friend, that we have some unfinished business to sort out.”


	14. Captive

Louis blinked hazily as Lestat’s gentle and seductive demeanor changed into terrifying rage within moments. He trembled as the pirate slapped him harshly across the cheek, before rapidly patting him down for weapons. Lestat ran his hands down one side, and Louis shuddered as he reached under his breeches and brought out the glimmering dagger. “And this, petit. Was this for my throat?” He smacked Louis again, who pressed himself against the wall, glaring at Lestat.  
  
  
  
“Yes,” he snarled, his fear replaced by white-hot anger, adrenalin pumping through his veins with the need to fight or get away, “you bastard! You’d deserve it!”  
  
  
  
“What did I do that was so wrong to you?” laughed Lestat, “you weren’t the first, you probably won’t be the last. Did I do something particularly different to you?” he said, taunting Louis as he slung the knife to the floor and jumped off the bed.   
  
  
  
Louis followed him, storming over to him and scratching at his face. “You absolute bastard!” he screamed, “you don’t even remember what you did to me, how you destroyed my life!”  
  
  
  
Lestat defending himself against the blows, then began fighting back, punching Louis several times and receiving blows to his own body. “Oh, please, Louis! It’s warfare. I’m a pirate. It’s my right to—“   
  
  
  
“Your right?” Screamed Louis, “your right to rape a seventeen-year-old boy?”  
  
  
  
Lestat’s eyes widened. “So that’s who you were!” He sneered at him, “well, I thought it was a most satisfying night.”   
  
  
  
Louis growled in fury and pummelled Lestat, overcome with anger. They fought across the room, tumbling over the bed and against cupboards as they kicked, punched, bit and attacked each other like wild animals, both raging at their betrayal by the other.   
  
  
  
Louis was an accomplished fighter, lithe and quick, but Lestat was heavier and had more experience. He threw Louis against the table that was in the middle of the cabin, satisfied to see him gasp in pain as his ribs smashed into the side of the table, causing him to double over, his breath rasping as he fought for air. Lestat swaggered over to him and, gathering up the mass of dark hair at the nape of his neck, pulled Louis up to face him, smiling with grim satisfaction as the gendarme winced in pain. “Do you really think you’re strong enough to kill me? The Pirate Lestat?” he snarled.   
  
  
  
Louis glared at him, his green eyes snapping with anger. Ignoring the pain, he pulled out of Lestat’s grasp and punched him with such force he was thrown backwards, onto the floor. “Strong little bastard, aren’t you?” he murmured in wonder, feeling the pain lance through his chin.   
  
  
  
His captive growled at the remark, and kicked him in the ribs. Lestat groaned as he was kicked several more times, then grabbed at Louis’ foot as it came at him, yanking it forward so that Louis fell painfully to the floor with a crash. Before Louis could react, Lestat was straddling him. Louis kicked and fought and swore, but Lestat was heavier than him and pinned his arms over his head so that he could only struggle uselessly against the hold.   
  
  
  
Lestat slapped him heavily across the face a couple of times, then sneered down at his captive. They were both panting heavily, but Louis trembled with terror, Lestat with fury. “So, Louis,” he said, “what should I do with you? Slit your pretty throat with the knife obviously intended for mine? Should I repeat our first encounter? Kidnap you and make you my slave?”  
  
  
  
“I’d rather die than serve you!” snarled Louis.   
  
  
  
“Careful,” said Lestat, “You might just get what you wish for, you treacherous fool.”   
  
  
  
Louis stared at him fiercely, though Lestat could feel him tremble beneath his thighs. “Kill me, then.”   
  
  
  
Lestat laughed. “Na�ve little gendarme! Do you really think you want death?”   
  
  
  
Louis glared at him. “Rather that than surrender to you. Do it!”  
  
  
  
The pirate regarded him with narrowed eyes. He leaned over and picked up one of the pillows that had fallen to the floor during the fight. There was a pause, and then he placed it over Louis’ face and began to apply pressure to his captive. Louis steeled himself, trying to remain noble in the face of death at the hands of his arch enemy.   
  
  
  
He could not swallow down the blind panic as the pillow was crushed against his face, cutting his breath off in a haze of white. Oh, God, he thought as the panic set in, to die like this—never to see his sister or his mother ever again, never to avenge himself on Lestat… “No!” He gasped against the pillow, reaching out and trying to claw at Lestat’s face. He grasped uselessly at Lestat’s shirt, then tried desperately to fight the hands holding him down, but his strength was failing with each moment. He was going to die…   
  
  
  
The pillow was abruptly moved from his face. His vision swam in front of him as he choked, gasping for air, under Lestat’s passive gaze. He coughed violently, struggling to breathe. Lestat regarded him disdainfully. “I thought you wanted to die, Louis.”   
  
  
  
Louis lay back, gasping. “You bastard,” he whispered, his voice shaking with rage, “you absolute bastard!”  
  
  
  
Lestat smirked. “Thank you. Well, Louis. I suppose this means you’re not going to escape me, after all.”   
  
  
  
“What… what are you going to do with me?” asked Louis, massaging his throat.   
  
  
  
Lestat stood up abruptly. “First, I’m going to check my ship. And then I’ll come back and we’ll see what happens.” He bent down and picked the knife up. “I don’t think you’ll be needing that. And don’t get any funny ideas, you fool. Even if you did hurt me, you won’t get past my men. They’d kill you in an instant. I’ll post sentries outside the door so don’t even think of some pathetic attempt at escape.”   
  
  
  
Louis struggled to get up, watching as Lestat moved towards the door. “You’ve already hurt me. Let me go… didn’t you promise that you won’t hurt people you’ve already taken? Isn’t that the point of your arrogant little mark?”  
  
  
  
Lestat turned. “Ha! I think that rule’s just gone out of the window.” He sniffed. “You’re still alive, aren’t you?”   
  
  
  
“Would you really have killed me then?”  
  
  
  
Lestat shrugged. “I don’t know.” He said. Louis shuddered at the sincerity in the pirate’s expression.


	15. At Sea

Lestat posted his sentries at the door to his cabin, and dusted himself down, wincing at several painful wounds. He looked out across the deck and was surprised to see Daniel running towards him, a pistol in one hand. “What are you doing?” he asked.  
  
“Lestat!” cried Daniel, “you’re all right!”  
  
“…Yes.”  
  
“That man—Louis, you can’t trust him. He knows you! I mean, I know everyone knows you, but he—“  
  
Lestat smirked. “I know.”  
  
“You _know_?”  
  
“He’s captive in my cabin right now.” Lestat tutted. “Really, Daniel. You’ll have to be more sharp than that in future. The little bastard could have slit me from neck to belly before you’d arrived.”  
  
“And I suppose you worked it out all by yourself?” growled Daniel, annoyed at Lestat's slight.  
  
“My stomach still seems to be intact.”  
  
“Pity about the bruises and scratches, huh?”  
  
“He’s like a damned panther. Put up quite a fight.” Lestat laughed.  
  
“Then you killed him?”  
  
Lestat shook his head.  
  
“What! Why ever not?”  
  
“Hell, I don’t know. Maybe I just… I don’t know.” Lestat glared at Daniel. “Stop looking at me like that. I’ll kill him when I’m ready. Nothing wrong with having some fun first, eh?”  
  
Daniel raised an eyebrow. “Whatever you say, boss. Though you know, the gendarmes will look at us first when they discover he’s missing.”  
  
Lestat scowled. He placed his hands on his hips and gestured to the lightening spring skies. “Gather the men. We leave Cartagena at sunrise!”   
  


* * *

  
  
Louis scowled as he inspected the little windows of Lestat’s cabin. He had checked the room twice over already, but he kept hoping he would find some escape. He had to get off the ship. He growled in frustration, striking the little windows in frustration. The glass was too thick, the windows to small, for him to even think of smashing and escaping. The door was well-guarded and there wasn’t any weakness in the structure of the cabin that would allow him to smash through undetected.  
  
He sat down on the bed and frowned. _You coward,_ he thought, _you’re afraid to die. Even for your deepest conviction._  
  
Why had he hesitated in slaying Lestat? He had had several opportunities to do it, several times when he could have slipped a knife between his shoulderblades in some darkened alley. And, like a fool, he had allowed himself to be charmed by Lestat, despite his protestations otherwise. And if he didn’t get off the ship… he had no doubt, he was a dead man. He had studied the antics of this vile pirate for years; he knew that even a supposed show of mercy ended up with the victim dead. He had to get out.  
  
He gasped in shock as the ship began to creak and groan, then lurched forward violently, throwing him to the ground. “No!” he cried out in horror. He instinctively ran to the door and tried to open it, but a pair of rough hands shoved him back in with such force he was thrown to the floor with a warning, “Stay in there or I’ll break your neck!”  
  
Louis groaned in misery and fear as the floorboards creaked and the ship began to sail out of port.


	16. Prisoner

Lestat watched with grim satisfaction as the port of Cartagena receded, giving way to the choppy waters of the Mediterranean. He listened to Daniel shouting out orders, the heaving of the ropes as Khayman and Dagmar set about the course for the ship.  
  
He gazed into the azure waves and sighed. His elation at outfoxing Louis and having had a damned good excuse to carry him off had subsided to a kind of melancholy. He simply didn’t know what to do with his prisoner. He had desired Louis’ confidence, his gentleness. What if he raped him, again? What, then? After it was done, he’d have a frightened, angry man to keep, and he knew how tiresome that got (he guessed that the seas were full of people he had thrown overboard after tiring of their crying, their hatred, their constant fear.)  
  
And then he felt so betrayed. His anger kept flaring up as he thought of the gendarme trying to trick him. He was embarrassed to realize he was dismayed at the strength of Louis’s hatred for him. His love for the gendarme had been something pure, soothing his own battered heart, and now it was tainted. He frowned. It was his own fault.  
  
He gazed down at the scratches and bruises on his arms. He had deserved it, hadn’t he? He was angry at Louis’s betrayal, but how could he expect forgiveness from the other man? He struggled to remember that night on the hill in Narbonne, and the way the boy’s eyes had been so sorrowful, so green, his flesh so tender. He should have killed him that first night. It would have been better for both of them.  
  
For the first time in so long, he had felt content. And now he was likely going to have to destroy the one person who had blasted away the monotony and the darkness. He glanced back at the cabin, straightened his clothes, and made his way to his prisoner.


	17. A choice

Louis jumped to his feet in anger and fear when Lestat entered the room, dismissing the guards as he closed the door behind him. They stood there, staring at each other for a moment. Louis was the first to break the silence. “They ship’s moving,” he said.  
  
Lestat rolled his eyes. “Well of course it is, you idiot.”  
  
“Under the name of the gendarmes of the Republic of France, I demand that you let me off this ship!”  
  
Lestat raised an eyebrow. “No.” He went to his wardrobe and took out some new clothes for the day. Louis averted his gaze when Lestat began to strip, feeling the panic die down in him when Lestat put on the other set of clothes. He realized he had been trembling.  
  
“I’m of no use to you now,” implored Louis, “if you’re after money, they won’t pay you.”  
  
Lestat snorted. “I don’t give a _damn_ for your money.”  
  
“What, then?" asked Louis harshly, "Why won’t you just do the right thing for once and let me go?”  
  
The pirate grinned. He swaggered over to his prisoner, his gait arrogant and domineering. Louis backed up as he came near, until he was pressed against the wall. Lestat trapped him, placing his arms at either side of his prisoner’s shoulders. He smirked at him. “I think you’ll have to pay for your betrayal first.”  
  
“I won’t do anyth—“ Louis gasped in pain as the hand he had risen to strike the pirate was caught in a crushing grip. He winced as his already swollen wrist was tightly grasped by Lestat’s hand.  
  
“None of that,” said Lestat. He pressed him against the wall further by crushing him with his own body. Before Louis could protest, he ran his hand down his prisoner’s abdomen, before plunging it into his torn breeches. Louis gasped at the intrusion, bucking forward only to be crushed against the wall again. He tried to close his legs tightly, but Lestat forced them apart with practised ease.  
  
Lestat’s hand was warm, making him instinctively press into the source of the heat. He gasped as he was fondled with a gentle but firm hand, kneading him, caressing his balls and lightly pinching his sensitive area. Louis twisted and struggled.  
  
“Unhand me, you monster.”  
  
“Monster!” Lestat laughed. “Do I look like a vampire, hmm?”  
  
“I think you’d make a very good vampire.”  
  
“Thank you. And you’d be absolutely awful. You’d probably wax lyrical every time you were about to bite some tempting young victim.” So saying, he took his hand from Louis’ breeches and grabbed his neck, bringing it forward as if to bite it. Instead, he kissed his way along it.  
  
“What do you want from me?” snapped Louis, pushing him away.  
  
“I want you for my mate,” said Lestat, before he could bite the words back.  
  
Louis burst into laughter. “Are you insane?” he cried, “I don’t know the first thing about shipping!”  
  
“I don’t mean that. You’d be an awful pirate. I mean, I want you for my mate.”  
  
“Are you mad?” he spat, “I’ll never, ever love you! I can’t even bear to look at you!”  
  
Lestat smirked. “Like that even matters, you bourgeois idiot. Well, let me lay down the law for you.”  
  
“Law! What do you know of law?” snorted Louis.  
  
“The laws of my ship. You have a choice, dearest. You’ll work with the crew. You’ll help prepare meals and scrub the decks. You’ll help kill the rats and fight in every battle—for us. You’ll sleep in the mess and hope and pray one of them… or all of them don’t get too friendly. Or you’ll come to me. You’ll be my mate and sleep in that sumptuous bed. And in exchange for a good ride when I want you, you’ll live in luxury and under my protection.”  
  
“There’s no other option?”  
  
“There is a third.”  
  
“What’s that?”  
  
“We throw you overboard.”  
  
“Oh.” Louis frowned. He bit his lip, thinking. "You know full well you leave me with only one option."  
  
"That's my boy," purred Lestat. "Start stripping."   
  
Louis sneered. “Why?" he asked. "Do the crew work nude?"  



	18. A Pirate's Life

“Watch out, ye idiots!”  
  
The crew members who had been given the unenviable task of scrubbing the deck jumped back with practised speed. Louis, dressed in a pair of dirty breeches and a shirt a size too big for him, was not quick enough and was drenched as Daniel threw a bucket of water over the deck. He glared at the pirates as they felt about laughing, struggling with a quiet dignity to ignore his sopping wet clothes as they resumed their work.  
  
Lestat watched from the prow of the ship with some amusement as Louis doggedly scrubbed the deck. He should be angry that Louis despised him so much, he was willing to risk himself amongst his men. He should be, but he couldn’t help the affectionate smile that crept across his face. _Little bastard_ , he thought affectionately, _stubborn little bastard._  
  
Louis glanced up at him and narrowed his eyes, before continuing his work. Lestat smirked. He called Aubenas to him. “Make sure he’s on swill duty today.”

"Aye, Cap'n."

* * *

He sauntered down to the cabins below as the sun was setting, to watch the exhausted gendarme being shown by Daniel and the ship’s cook how to help prepare the food for the crew’s meals. He was sweating from exertion and fatigue, and Lestat felt a stab of pity for him, despite his annoyance with his prisoner.  
  
The cook shouted at Louis as he took out some salted meat from the barrels. He hurried over with the meat, then picked up a pan of water to carry over. The cook, a bad-tempered pirate who was the only crew member to habitually shout at Lestat, screamed another order and Louis, flustered, ran into the work table, dropping the pan with a loud crash and turning a terrified gaze on the screaming cook who waved his hands (and the knife he was carrying) a little too energetically for Lestat’s comfort.  
  
He walked further into the cabin as Daniel desperately tried to convince the cook not to carve the gendarme up, and, taking Louis by the arm, helped him up. He picked up the pan and placed it onto the table, drawing the furious and hurt prisoner away from the room. He meant to say something comforting; something emphatic. Instead, he found himself saying, “Look at you. You’re a mess.”

Louis pulled away from his grasp. “Like I care. I've been working non-stop since sunrise."   
  
“That’s the life of a prisoner," said Lestat. He reached forward and brushing a lock of thick black hair behind Louis’ ear, “one that chooses the wrong option.”  
  
“You really are simple, aren’t you?” snapped Louis, “I know it’s hard for you to comprehend, but no means no.”  
  
“That’s never stopped me before.”  
  
He stilled. “You’re _despicable_ ," he hissed. 

Lestat shrugged, but the smile died on his lips. "I gave you a choice this time, didn't I?" 

  
"And I chose." 

  
“Louis,” said Lestat, grabbing his arm, “you’ve proven yourself to me, all right? I understand. You hate me, you’ll never love me, you’re so much better, etc, etc. But end this charade now. You won’t be safe without me.”  
  
Louis regarded him coldly. “Take your hand off me.”  
  
Lestat felt his famed temper rising. Who did this little snot think he was, ordering Lestat de Lioncourt about? He sneered. “Fine, have it your way, Pointe du Lac.” He dusted the gendarme down roughly, then shoved him back towards the still-ranting cook. “Get back in there.”  
  
He scowled as Louis shrugged and walked back towards the kitchen. Daniel came over to Lestat, and he hastily tried to hide his annoyance with the prisoner. “Well, boss,” said Daniel, “it looks like your charm isn’t working very well. Losing it a bit, are we?”  
  
Lestat growled. “Carry on like that and I’ll throw you overboard.”  
  
“I wonder what Armand would have to say about that?” mused Daniel.  
  
“He’d probably thank me for getting rid of you. The sooner you return to that little imp, the better.”  
  
Daniel rolled his eyes. “He’ll be forever in the Americas. Which is about as much time as it’ll take you to get into the gendarme.”  
  
Lestat clicked his tongue. “No, it won’t. Because you’re going to move it along tonight, Daniel.”  
  
“What’s it worth?”  
  
“A flagon of that Scotch we plundered?”  
  
Daniel laughed. “The Irishman in me can’t refuse such an offer. What do you want me to do?”  
  
Lestat looked at Louis and smiled. “Scare tactics.”


	19. No Deal

Daniel tried everything to intimidate Louis in the next couple of days. He was somewhat put out that Louis didn’t seem to fear him as much as he did the other pirates. As the week wore on, he had tried various scare tactics, from bullying him to pretending he was going to attack him. He glared at Louis as he stood on the deck, watching him help the crew. He recalled the previous night’s confrontation, rubbing his jaw ruefully.  
  
He had confronted the gendarme in the crew’s quarters, done the necessary threatening; he was going to hurt him, he’d take him despite what Lestat said; Louis didn’t know how terrible he could make his life if he didn’t do as he said.  
  
Louis sneered at him. “Then try it.”  
  
Daniel was taken aback. “I will, I mean it.”  
  
Louis slid off his bunk and stood face-to-face with Daniel. They were about the same height, and though Daniel was heavier, Louis carried himself suspiciously like someone who knew how to defend himself. Daniel recalled the cuts and bruises Lestat had received. “Go on, then.”

"You first," he taunted him.

Louis set his jaw, and stared at the other man. "You know," he said softly. "I remember how you were prepared to hurt me more that night."

"What?"

"You asked Lestat to have a go," he said.

"I--"

"Like I counted for nothing."

Daniel scowled. "You didn't," he said. "It's fanciful and splendid that you think you were any more special than anyone who has come across us." He looked Louis up and down, and smiled at him, a deliberately cruel smirk on his face. "You've never mattered. You need to stop this maundering over something that happens."

"How _dare_ you..." said Louis.

"A real man wouldn't weep and plot over a quick fuck. That's all you were, you know. A hole to be used."

His words had found their mark; Louis launched himself at Daniel with a battle cry, and he had never regretted carelessly-flung words as much as he did. He barely got a punch in as Louis kicked, punched and threw him around the small cabin. If Aubenas hadn't come by and intervened, it could have been a lot worse. His attacked had to be dragged away from him, while he rolled onto his back and held his head, feeling it gingerly to see if Louis had split his skull with his boot. 

"Reckon you need a hand," laughed Aubenas."Now you just calm down--" 

"Get off me!" said Louis, pushing him away roughly.

Daniel squinted up at them both, and saw Aubenas take a visible step backwards. There was something unhinged, green spitting fury about Louis at that moment, and the cabin was filled with Louis's angry panting and Daniel's humiliated groans as he slowly regained control.

"I'll cut you for this," snarled Daniel, because it was expected of him.

Louis stood over him. “I’m not a teenager now, Daniel Molloy.” And then he had simply stalked out of the room and left Daniel to be mocked by his rescuer.

Of course, the other pirates had laughed at the bruise along Daniel’s jaw and asked him what had happened, but in the face of Louis’ silence and a bribe to Aubenas to shut up, he brushed them off angrily. He thought of that haul of Scottish whiskey that seemed farther and farther away with each passing day, and he hated the gendarme utterly, or at least told himself he did.

He stood on deck overseeing that day's work, and purposely held Louis's gaze whenever he came across him. Louis did not look away, but he did not challenge him, either. Daniel knew what he meant in his demeanor: _I've beat you bloody. That's us done_.

“He hasn't come to me," said a soft voice behind him.

Daniel jumped, turning to see Lestat standing there, a false smile on his face. "Well, I--"

"How have you managed to fail at this?" said Lestat with a put-upon sigh.

"Bit presumptuous, like."  
  
Lestat raised his chin, regarded him haughtily. “What happened to your jaw?”  
  
Daniel scowled. “I fell.”  
  
Lestat smirked. “I’ll raise a glass of whiskey to you tonight, then.” He watched as Louis lifted up a keg of water and carried it down towards the kitchen cabin. “Excuse me.”


	20. Attack

“Aye, you’re actually a bit more of a help than a hindrance today, no?” said the cook genially as Louis set the keg down on the kitchen floor, gasping with the exertion. Louis was just glad to see that he wasn’t wielding his knife.  
  
“Yes, sir,” he said. “Do you want me to start gutting the fish?”  
  
“Later, later,” said the cook. "First you can -- what the devil's bollocks are you doing here?" he snarled. 

Louis followed his gaze towards the creaky wooden stairs, where the unwelcome pirate Lestat stood, grinning. "I can always expect a kind greeting from you, my friend."

"Piss off, Lestat!" said the cook, picking up a knife and wagging it in his direction. "You so much as sniff at my soup and I'll be guttin' you myself." He scowled at Louis. "He's always poncin' around here thinkin' he's some prodigy and throwing stupid shit into my food and expectin' me to--"   
  
“Yes, yes,” said Lestat wearily. He gestured to Louis to follow him, who, shrugging, followed the pirate towards the little cabin off away from the kitchen.  
  
”What is it... _Captain_?” asked Louis.  
  
Lestat snorted. "Why are you on the galley detail? I don't want you stinking of fish." 

"How I smell is none of your concern," said Louis, curling his lip.

"It is when I'm going to have you bent over the table."

Louis glowered at him. "You really are the most crass and ridiculous popinjay I've ever had the displeasure to meet."

Lestat nodded. "Maybe so." He eyed his prisoner critically. “You’re a mess.”  
  
“Deck work will do that to you.”  
  
“Is that so, my little pirate?” Lestat snorted. "And you're so well suited to lugging around those pots with your delicate bones and your pretty face, aren't you?" He glanced back at the cook. "Is that it? Does the steam make you desperate?" 

"If you've had enough of your lunatic rambling, I have to get back to preparing your dinner." Louis considered, biting his lip. "Sometimes, Lestat..." he leaned forward conspiratorially.

"Yes?"

"Sometimes I wonder how easy it would be to slip some poison into your food." He broke out into a malicious smile. 

Lestat sobered under his wicked gaze. He swallowed. "I would have you killed," he said.

"Would you, now?" said Louis. He turned from Lestat with a shrug. "C'est rien. I have nothing to bargain with."

“End this charade, you little fool," hissed Lestat. He came up close to his prisoner and bent to his ear. "You’re not convincing anyone.”  
  
“You gave me a choice," said Louis. He raised his eyes to Lestat and set his mouth. "I made it.”  
  
Lestat leaned forward and ruffled Louis’ hair fondly. Louis scowled and moved out from under his touch as the pirate regarded him, smiling. “You’re such a stubborn ass.”  
  
“You mean I won’t roll over and play with you?”  
  
Lestat chuckled. “You idiot, you really think that you can stop me? I’ll have you any damn time I want. You just remember that.”  
  
”Then why don’t you?”  
  
“Maybe I want to see what happens. You know,” said Lestat, “maybe I’d like you if you weren’t such an idiot. Maybe if you’d stop your stupid vendetta against me for taking the spoils of war, your life would be easier—“  
  
“I’ll never forgive you for what you did to me!” spat Louis. His eyes lit up with green electricity. Lestat was captivated by how enlivened and dangerously beautiful his anger made him.  
  
“I don’t care if you don’t forgive me," he whispered.  
  
Louis spread his hands, exasperated. “Then leave me alone."

"It's not as simple as that, idiot!"   
  
“Why not!” snapped Louis, but any retort Lestat might have made was abruptly cut off as the ship rocked with a terrible force that threw Louis forward against him, while a shrill whistling noise pervaded the cabin, followed by angry shouts of surprise.  
  
“What—“ began Louis, steadying himself in Lestat’s grasp, but before Lestat could say anything, frantic footsteps were heard on the stairs and a moment later the door was flung open. “Captain,” said Aubenas, bursting in, “we’re under attack!”


	21. Battle

“All hands on deck! Everyone, in position!” roared Lestat, storming through the throng of pirates, pulling Louis behind him by the wrist savagely. The gendarme, confused and frightened by the noise and the sudden descent into battle, didn’t fight his grasp, but gazed in horror at the huge ship bearing an Andalucian flag that was bearing down on The Mermaid.  
  
Lestat shouted out more orders, and Louis winced at the sound of cutlasses being drawn, the cannons prepared. Then he was pulled roughly through the crew after Lestat, to find himself dragged into Lestat’s cabin. He glowered at the pirate as he was released, rubbing his sore wrist. “Oh, is this your manner, is it, you coward?” he snapped. “You wait in here while the crew dies?”  
  
Lestat snorted. “Shut the hell up, Louis.” He turned his back on him and rummaged through his possessions, pulling out a pistol.  
  
“What are you doing?”  
  
“I’m preparing my weapons. Now shut up!”  
  
“What about _my_ weapons?”  
  
Lestat turned to him, incredulous. “What!”  
  
“Do you expect me to fight without weapons?”  
  
“Of course not,” said Lestat.  
  
“Then you--"  
  
“I don’t expect you to fight at all.” He secured his pistol in his belt, and made for the door.  
  
Louis ran after him. “What!”  
  
“I don’t have time for this. Stay the hell out of the way. Even you can comprehend that, surely?”  
  
Louis tried to push past him. He grappled with the pirate for a moment, but was thrown back into the room. Lestat snarled. “Stay here!”  
  
“You said ‘All hands on deck’,” retorted Louis, dusting himself down, “and you’ve made damned sure my hands have been on that deck as much as possible the last week—I’m going up.”  
  
Lestat breathed heavily through his nose. He slammed the door shut, then whirled on his heel to storm over to the younger man. Louis tried not to show any fear, but Lestat cut an intimidating figure, dressed up and ready for battle. The pirate placed a hand on his chest, and shoved him lightly.  
  
“We’re not playing your little make-pretend game now, Louis. Pirates won’t stop to argue. They’ll kill you.”  
  
“I had rather thought of that.”  
  
Lestat smirked. “Cute. But it won’t save you the wrath of a Spanish pirate.” He looked down his nose arrogantly at his prisoner. “Well, it looks like I was right. You aren’t pirate material; you never will be.”  
  
“You made my decision for me!” cried Louis, furious  
  
Lestat sneered at him. “Do you really think you’ve got what it takes? Do you, my little gendarme?”  
  
Louis blinked. “Y-yes.”  
  
“You aren’t a very good liar. At all.” Lestat turned back towards the door. “I’m keeping this room locked. If you have even half a brain, you’ll keep this door locked and stay out of sight. They won’t show mercy to any prisoners taken.”  
  
“I’d rather be with them than you!” snapped Louis, seating himself heavily at the table. “I hope they cut you into pieces!”  
  
“Oh,” said Lestat, “really?” He patted his sword. “Let’s see how you feel _after_ the battle. After all, they may win and you'll have a new owner.”  
  
So saying, he left, shutting the door firmly behind him. Louis frowned as he heard the sound of the door being locked, then the pirates shouting excitedly as they geared up for battle. He got up from his chair and tried the door, growling in impotent fury when he confirmed that it was, indeed, locked. He walked the length of the room, inspecting the windows and noting that they were too small for him to escape from, even if he did manage to smash them.  
  
He slumped against the wall, trying desperately to ignore the sounds of frenetic shouting and sword clashing against sword, the thrill of cannonfire outside as the two sides clashed. He wondered if the Spanish ship was part of the royal guard, sent to destroy Lestat and his crew, but remembered that Lestat had called them pirates himself. He sighed; whichever way he looked at it, the prospects weren’t good.  
  
 _I hope they cut you into pieces._ What would Lestat do after that little outburst? Why had Lestat even bothered to ensure his safety? Was it just because he didn't want a prisoner taken, or something more? What would happen if Lestat were defeated and he, Louis, was suddenly at the hands of a new master? What if—  
  
He yelped in shock as a bullet shot through one of the small leaded windows, cracking it and ricocheting off a metal pan to lodge itself into the opposite wall. He scrambled towards the opposite wall, keeping low, and curled himself into a space as small as possible. Somebody screamed in agony, near to the cabin. “I hope it’s you, Lestat!” he shouted angrily, but if the lie couldn’t be heard in his voice, he could feel his hands trembling well enough.


	22. A Test

The fighting continued for nearly an hour. Louis fought to remain calm and not to worry - too much - as the battle raged around him. Then all went quiet, and, curious, he crept out from his hiding place to listen. He could hear faint talking, so walked towards the windows and peered out from them. He saw Aubenas, tending gingerly to a wound on his shoulder, and Daniel, then Khayman lugging a sack full of something heavy on deck.  
  
At that moment, there was a small commotion outside the room, and he stepped back as the door opened. Lestat entered, smirking triumphantly, with a couple of pirates in tow. His clothes were torn in some places, and there was a gash on his arm, but he looked as cocky and sure of himself as ever.  
  
He grinned at Louis, before issuing orders to the pirates to strip the other ship before scuttling it. The pirates rushed off to obey. “Fill me a pitcher with some water,” he ordered Louis. The gendarme thought to argue, but there was a wild look in Lestat’s eyes at the moment, as if the adrenaline of the fight was still coursing through him.  
  
With a sigh, he prepared the pitcher and carried it over to Lestat, who was sitting in one of the chairs at the table now. “Get me that cloth,” said Lestat, gesturing to a white cotton drape one of the cupboards. Louis obeyed and placed the cloth in front of the pirate as well. He grimaced as Lestat tore off a strip of cloth and gestured to his arm. “Wash it, then bind it.”  
  
“Am I your slave?” asked Louis tersely, shuddering as he washed the wound and saw the water run red. He much imagined the deck to be awash with the same substance.  
  
“Are you a pirate?”  
  
“No!” snapped Louis. He sponged the wound, trying to stop the blood flow. “Hold your arm up higher, so that the blood stops running so.”  
  
“It’s only a small wound, nothing to me.”  
  
“It could have been worse,” Louis scowled. “Unfortunately, it wasn’t.”  
  
“My crew are the finest in all the Mediterranean. Nobody beats us.”  
  
“I’m so happy for you.”  
  
Lestat flinched as Louis wrapped the cotton around his arm firmly. “You’ll watch your mouth, you little fool. I wonder how _you_ would have fared out there.”  
  
Louis glared at him as he tied the cotton sheet to the pirate’s arm. “I’d be better off fighting than having to suffer being here with you.”  
  
Lestat sneered at him.“I saved your skin. You would have been dead out there in an instant—“  
  
Louis gaped. “You didn’t give me a chance to prove myself!”  
  
“I did it to protect you!” said Lestat, gesturing with his good hand as if he expected Louis's worship.  
  
“The only thing I need protection from, Lestat, is you.” Louis said icily. “How dare you judge me? I’m stronger than you think.”  
  
Lestat laughed humorlessly as he flexed his arm, testing it. “You’re not a killer.”  
  
“I’d happily slit your throat!” hissed Louis.  
  
“Oh, please. You're a tremendously bad actor.You’re _not_ a killer.”  
  
“How dare you make these presumptions about me!” roared Louis, pushing against Lestat and feeling some small satisfaction when his captor gasped in pain. “Tell me, Lestat, what were you thinking of me that night that you terrorized a teenage boy? Do you think me so cowed now? Do you think I fear you more than I have a sense of honor?”  
  
Lestat’s gray eyes were large and thoughtful. “You don’t know what I think about you, my little gendarme. But I do know one thing; you’re a prisoner on my ship, because you are certainly not a pirate.”  
  
“You can’t prove that!”  
  
Lestat shot him a hateful glare. “Oh,” he hissed. “Really?”  
  
He grabbed Louis by the back of his collar, dragging him towards the door. He may have looked only a little heavier than Louis, but his strength was formidable. Louis followed helplessly, struggling as he was marched across the deck towards the prow of the ship, through the throng of pirates. Sitting there, bound and shaking with fury and fear as he was threatened by the crew, was a Spanish pirate.  
  
Lestat withdrew his sword. Louis flinched, stepping back as the pirate advanced on his Spanish prisoner, startled as he was dragged forward. Lestat placed the heavy sword in his hand and stepped back, folding his arms. “Prove it to me then, Louis de Pointe du Lac. Prove yourself in front of all of us here and win your freedom from me. Slit his throat.”  
  
“What?” asked Louis, his head reeling with the sudden proposition.  
  
“Kill him. Kill him and I’ll let you alone. Buy your freedom with his death.”  
  
Louis glanced at the shaking prisoner, then towards the pirate, and down at the sword. He swallowed as he tightened his grip on the weapon, feeling as if he would collapse at any moment. Memories of Paul, his head split open on that fateful night, the blood pooling around his head, came unbidden to his mind. He thought of his lust to kill Lestat, to avenge himself on the pirates who had destroyed his innocence long before the death of his brother. He thought of what Paul would say, and what he would have him do.  
  
Lestat watched him with a steel gray gaze. “Well?”


	23. The Truth

“ _What’s the matter?”  
  
Louis had turned at the sound of the voice, then hastily turned to stare out of the window again. He scowled. “I don’t remember inviting you into my room, Paul.”  
  
“Do brothers need permission to speak to one another?”  
  
“I wanted to be alone.”  
  
A sigh. “You always want to be alone these days, Louis. You’re withdrawing into yourself.”  
  
“So?”  
  
A hand was laid on his shoulder. He flinched. “So,” said Paul slowly, “so I want to know how I can help you. Should I pray for you?”  
  
Louis laughed, unable to hide the bitterness that strangled his humor. “God would not forgive me for the thoughts in my head. Then again, maybe he would. If your right eye offends you—“  
  
“Did Jesus not preach ‘turn the other cheek’ to harm done?” Paul squeezed his shoulder gently. “Is that it, brother? Has someone hurt you?”  
  
Louis hesitated. He turned to look at his brother, with his innocent blue eyes, the golden hair framing his face, like a halo. He smirked. Good, holy, untouched Paul. How proud his mother was of him; how their sister adored him, even while they whispered that Louis was cold and aloof and changed. He thought of the stars that night, and how they had framed Lestat’s face, making him appear so beautiful and so… so tender, when he had been nothing but an evil raping bastard.  
  
“Yes, Paul,” he murmured at last, turning back to the window. Night was falling across the lush green gardens of the Pointe du Lac estate. “But don’t you worry. You’ll have me back one day, happy again. Because I will get even. I assure you of that.”  
  
“Revenge, then?” asked Paul. “You let revenge eat you up like this? It’ll consume you, Louis. It’s not Christian. It’s not right—“  
  
“Who the hell are you to tell me what’s wrong and right?” asked Louis sharply. “You, who spurn your studies to read about long-dead Saints, to moon over the statues in the church—“  
  
Paul watched him, his expression sad, his eyes clear of accusation. Louis frowned. “I’m… I’m sorry, Paul. I… you’re too young, right now. I’ll explain one day.”  
  
“You’ve been saying that for the last six years.”  
  
Louis shrugged, defeated. “I know.”  
  
“You just changed one night. I remember when it happened… I remember the exact day I came to you, and you were so sad, so different… so not my Louis.”  
  
Louis leaned his head against the window. He swallowed, fighting down the hot tears of shame, grief and anger that threatened to overwhelm him if Paul continued. His brother must have noticed, for he was silent a long time. He rubbed his back gently, and Louis imagined that his brother’s innocence and gentility calmed him. Then, after a while:  
  
“What did the pirates do to you?”  
  
Louis turned, shocked. “Get out!” he snarled, standing up quickly and shoving Paul hard, so hard he stumbled backwards and nearly lost his footing. “Get out! I’ll kill you, Paul! I’ll kill you—how—how dare you! Get out!”  
  
Their first real argument. Their worst, up until that night a mere two months later. They hadn’t talked properly for a while, and then something had flared up, and Paul was lying dead at the bottom of those stairs. And all Maman had been able to cry, again and again, like some damned fury, was “Iheard you arguing! I know, I remember—you threatened to kill him. Was it you? Did you do it, Louis? Why him and not you You’ve hated life for these past years; he wanted it. Where is the fairness in that?”_  
  
Someone cried out, "Well, lad?"  
  
Louis raised his eyes, shaking himself from his reverie. So many mistakes. He should have… he should have had the strength to forget, but he hadn’t, and Paul was dead and there was nothing left to fight for, nothing but the need to destroy. Destruction, creation, it was all the same, wasn’t it?  
  
The Spanish prisoner regarded him with solemn brown eyes. The pirates squawked like animals; “kill him; cut his throat; take that Spanish bastard!” And Lestat regarded him with a knowing gaze. _You can’t do it. You’re not a killer._  
  
He wanted to cry out. Paul had been the only other one who believed that of him. Not Maman, not his sister, not the gendarmes when he took the pledge to kill for his country. And what would be the point of another life lost, one more injustice?  
  
He turned to Lestat. “I can’t do it. You bastard, I can’t do it!”  
  
The Spanish prisoner fell back on his knees, relieved and still shaking from the terror of the moment. The pirates about jeered as Lestat stepped forward triumphantly, wresting the sword from Louis’ hands. “I thought as much, you coward,” he laughed, “let me show you how it’s done—“ he raised his hand, but Louis fought against him.  
  
“No! You can’t! I won’t let you!”  
  
Lestat shoved him back. “You can hardly stop me.”  
  
“Please don’t kill him. _Please don’t make me have that on my conscience._ Please, Lestat, anything, anything at all!” The tears came freely now, in his panic, and the pirates jeered louder, but he didn’t care. He had to stop the pirate, he had to honor Paul, no matter what the cost—  
  
“Grow up, Louis,” said Lestat, “he’s going to die anyway—“  
  
“Please! Keep him on board as a slave, make him work the galleys, anything—just don’t kill him. If he wants to live—please, Lestat! You’ll destroy me, I swear it!”  
  
“Why should I care if I destroy you?”  
  
Louis placed his hands against Lestat’s chest. “You don’t have to, but you said you’d give me a choice. You said I would have to choose. And if I choose life, for me, for the Spaniard—then if I choose that, I’ll surrender to you. I’ll stop fighting you. If you choose death—then kill us both, because I won’t live like this! I won’t!”


	24. Surrender

Lestat gazed in wonder at the gendarme. Oh, it was no great sacrifice from Louis—how many times had people refused such ultimatums as this, just to ease their conscience? No, it wasn’t that… it was, in the end, Louis’ offer. _I’ll surrender to you._ He knew what it cost the gendarme to say this thing, but he didn’t care one whit. What Louis didn’t know, and what he could never know, was the minute those green eyes turned their cutting verdigris gaze on him, he was lost. He had inspired something other than seething hatred in Louis for that one moment, and he felt his stomach churn with anxiety.  
  
He had wanted this reaction for so long! Well, anything was better than pure hatred as a basis for a relationship.  
  
He clasped Louis’s hand and pulled him against him roughly. “You swear,” he said, “no more fighting me from now on? You’re mine?”  
  
“I can hardly promise I won’t fight you,” murmured Louis through his tears, “but I will serve you as you ask, no matter how much it pains me. If you let him alone. If you let him keep his life.”  
  
Lestat laughed, turning to his pirates. “Men, a fair deal, is it not? Our pretty little gendarme here for the life of a Spanish pirate?” He regarded his men with glittering eyes, careful to make sure they did not challenge his decision—he knew they had wanted blood.  
  
He waved one gloved hand in the direction of the Spanish pirate. “Take him to the cellars, give him some of our finest moldy bread, maybe some water—I have other business to take care of.” He clasped Louis tighter to him, marching him back towards his cabin while the gendarme fought to regain his mask of indifference lost in the face of ugly death.


	25. Supper

Louis eyed Lestat suspiciously as the pirate eased the door shut. He caught a glimpse of the sky outside, and saw that night was beginning to fall; the rosy hue of sunset was giving way to a cold blue. He frowned, backing up against a wall as Lestat took off his coat and laid it over a chair.  
  
Lestat winked. “No need to be so edgy, Petit. You’ve surrendered, I’ve won. You can drop the avenging angel act now.”  
  
Louis stiffened. “It’s not an act—“  
  
“Yes, yes,” said Lestat, waving his hand dismissively. “I don’t know about you, but I’m famished. That lazy damned chef had better hurry up with my meal.” He rolled his eyes. “What now?”  
  
“Nothing.”  
  
“Are you hungry?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Well, I am.”  
  
“I thought you were going to—“  
  
Lestat smirked. “Going to what?”  
  
Louis blushed. “Never mind,' he muttered sullenly.  
  
Lestat was about to reply when there was a knock on the door and a couple of members of the crew came in carrying some covered dishes and two bottles of wine. “Plundered from the Spanish ship, captain!” grinned one of them as they set the food down on the table.  
  
“Oh, good,” said Lestat, “Hard-won goods always taste sweeter.” He winked at Louis, who glowered at him, then turned away. Lestat waved the crew members out of the room and, smiling at the gendarme, took some plates and cutlery out from one the cupboards and set two places. He pulled back a chair, then sat down in the other. “Well, sit. Eat.”  
  
“No, thank you.” muttered Louis, turning away from the table as Lestat shrugged and started uncovering the dishes. The gendarme picked up a book, groaning inwardly to see it was a compilation of insufferably dull poetry, but made a show of studying it as the delicious smell of food drifted around the cabin; far nicer fare than he had been existing on for the last week.  
  
“Mmm,” said Lestat, “coq au vin! Succulent roasted vegetables, as well… my, but the chef has outdone himself—“  
  
“Oh,” said Louis, reading loudly from the book, “the stars doth shine so bright!”  
  
“Sea bass! Well, I am spoilt for choice this evening. Is that… proper butter I smell?”  
  
“They shine so brightly in the night!”  
  
“Fresh fruit? Well, that’ll keep the scurvy at bay.”  
  
“But I swear, that to mine sight—“  
  
“Good quality French cheese, to go along with that glorious Spanish wine! It’s more than a man can bear.”  
  
Louis gritted his teeth. He couldn’t bring himself to read out one more insipid line, especially now the poet was comparing his love to a ripe peach. “Do you mind,” he hissed, turning to Lestat, “I’m trying to read—“ he stopped mid-sentence at the sight of a golden, crispy piece of meat Lestat was biting into.  
  
“Mmm,” said Lestat, holding the succulent piece of chicken between finger and thumb, “one has to admit, my little gendarme—the captain dines much better than his crew.”  
  
“Why am I not surprised? You selfish bastard.”  
  
“You could dine like this, too. I don’t know what you hope to prove. You’re here now, so make the best of it.”  
  
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” asked Louis, averting his gaze from the chicken and feeling his mouth fill with saliva in silent protest.  
  
“Sit down,” said Lestat. “I mean, I don’t see how you’re going to defy me if you’re half-starving.”  
  
Louis glared at him, feeling the fury knot in his throat. “All right, you bastard,” he hissed, unable to bear it and throwing himself down into the chair with unlikely grace, “You’re right. Why should I starve for you?”  
  
“That’s more like it. I’m glad we reached an accord on something,” teased Lestat.  
  
“You think because you offer me food, I’ll suddenly forgive you? Leap into your arms and declare my undying love? Go to hell.”  
  
“Your insults aren’t very inventive.”  
  
“Die.”  
  
Lestat gestured to him with his fork. “You see?”  
  
Louis scowled at him. “Are you going to pass me some of that wine, or what? If I have to listen to you, I should at least be allowed to do it drunk.”  
  
Lestat grinned. “But of course.” He poured his captive a drink, filled his own glass and raised it. “A toast.”  
  
“To what?”  
  
“To us.”  
  
Louis regarded him sourly. “I think you need to keep the wine flowing.”


	26. The Cabin

The sky was rich and star-spattered. Louis found himself pausing in his diatribe for longer and longer periods, struck by their beauty once again. He still felt uneasy being here with this man, his tormentor, but his belly was full and the dishes had been cleared away and he felt--  
  
“I think you’ll like it here,” said Lestat, cutting into his thoughts.  
  
Louis turned back to face him, sloshing the wine in his glass. “You think too much.”  
  
“I can give you everything you want,” said Lestat quietly.  
  
Louis bristled, feeling that Lestat was playing with him. “Except freedom.”  
  
The pirate looked down and smiled. “Except that. Is that all you want?”  
Louis considered. “Don’t you have any better books?”  
  
“Who needs to read? I have no time for books.”  
  
“Why am I not surprised?” Louis scowled.  
  
“What do you mean?” asked Lestat, but there was an edge to his voice now.  
  
“You’re hardly the intellige—“ Louis stopped mid-sentence as Lestat stood up violently, slamming his fist down on the table.  
  
“Don’t you _dare_ presume anything about me, you little bastard!” snarled Lestat. “You don’t know the first thing about me, not really, except your silly little bourgeois pretensions!”  
  
Louis glared at him. “Whose fault is _that_? And do you think we decent folk don’t know what pirates are like? Do you think I don’t know first hand what a monster you are--!” He gasped as Lestat came forward and slapped him heavily across the cheek.  
  
“Let me get this straight for you,” snarled Lestat, slapping him again before storming over to the other side of the room, shaking with rage, “ _I’m_ the victor here! I’m the feared pirate, the rich one, the _dangerous_ one. You’re the gendarme who couldn’t even do his job properly, the prisoner who gave himself up because he’s too cowardly to face death!  
  
“And you don’t fear death!” snarled Louis  
  
“No,” hissed Lestat, “I don’t. I never have.” He held up his hand to curtail any further argument, and Louis stopped short of the reply he knew would anger him. Lestat raised his hand thoughtfully and bit his nail. “Come here.”  
  
Louis felt the dread wash over him. “No!”  
  
“Come _here_ ,” said Lestat, and Louis knew by the undertone of menace in his voice that he should obey.  
He got up slowly and walked over to Lestat, holding his hands out pleadingly. “Please don’t.”  
  
“Did you not promise to do as I said if I let that man live?” asked Lestat, taking him by the shoulders.  
  
“Yes, but—  
  
Lestat shook him. “Did you not promise!”  
  
Louis stood back, feeling wretched and confused, but above all, hateful. “Yes,” he hissed.  
  
“Well, good. Undress, my pretentious one. Then get on the bed.”  
  
Louis wanted to beg again, for mercy, he couldn’t do this—but he knew Lestat would. He could see it in his eyes, and he realized that he had to be strong now, not give the pirate the satisfaction of seeing him as frightened as he had been all those years ago. He began to undress slowly, removing his cravat, then his vest. Lestat snorted impatiently and began to divest him of his clothes roughly, and Louis let him, glaring at his captor with sharp green defiance as he was stripped.  
  
When it was done, Lestat stepped back and regarded him, looking a little shaken himself. He swallowed. “Now get on the bed.”  
  
Louis did so, laying supine, his head against the pillows as Lestat regarded him. He waited for Lestat to undress, but the pirate merely watched him a while longer. Louis couldn’t bear the tense atmosphere; despite himself, he closed his eyes. He was humiliated to realize that he had begun to tremble but the more he fought to control himself, the harder it was to control the shaking.  
  
Finally, Lestat spoke: “I’m going to check on the crew. Go to sleep, Louis.”  
  
Louis slowly opened his eyes, confused relief flooding through him as Lestat turned and left the cabin without a backward glance. Hastily, he jumped up from the bed and grabbed his nightshirt, thankful for its modesty. He clambered back onto the bed, pulled back the covers and wound them tightly around himself.  
  
He felt the trembling subside in his body as the minutes wore on, but misgivings still flooded his senses. How soon would Lestat be back? Would he throw himself upon him? How could he bear to be in the same bed as that arrogant, feckless pirate? How could he ever hope to sleep peacefully here?  
  
The thoughts were still roiling around his head and the cabin was still blissfully silent as he drifted off to sleep.


	27. In Lestat's Arms

Sometime during the night, Louis awoke to the sound of the door to the cabin creaking open. He shut his eyes quickly again, glad that his back was to the door and all he had to contend with were the wooden walls. He heard someone—Lestat, he knew, from the dropping of the heavy coat and the sure walk—moving about in the room. He listened to the pirate washing himself with the water from the pail, marveling that Lestat was at least clean, for a pirate, but then decided it was because he was fabulously vain rather than for hygiene.  
  
There was some more movement, then a weight on the bed next to him. He kept his eyes shut and tried to regulate his breathing. He couldn’t bear to talk with the pirate right now. Well, he had known that he would have to share the bed with Lestat. He scowled and turned away, trying to drift back to sleep.  
  
Sleep was easier said than done. A million thoughts were whirling through Louis’s head. He was thinking of Narbonne, and his sister. He wished he could speak with her and let her know he was at least alive. He was thinking of Paul, and the thousand regrets that ran through him whenever he conjured up memories of his brother, and then of David, and what had happened in Cartagena, and the thought he could not stop dwelling on: Lestat.  
  
Lestat’s gray eyes kept springing to his mind, and how for that one instant, when he had been talking at the dinner table, they had not been cold and indifferent, but _blue_ and tender. Poppycock, he told himself, scowling, it had merely been lust and which idiot had said eyes were the windows to the soul, anyway? But he couldn’t stop thinking about it. He sighed miserably and leaned further into the pillows, curling up tighter under the wonderfully warm blankets.  
  
He was uncomfortable because he could _feel_ Lestat watching him, see behind the darkness of his eyelids the movement of Lestat’s shadow as the minutes ticked by. Then, suddenly: “I’ve never met anyone like you, Louis de Pointe du Lac.”  
  
Louis listened to the soft sigh of the voice above him, determined to stay still. The shadow moved away, and then the blankets were being pulled back, Lestat slipping underneath them before the coldness was replaced with their warm weight once more.  
  
He felt Lestat press up against his back, and frowned. He wouldn’t even leave him alone in sleep, he thought bitterly.  
  
The pirate’s strong fingers ran through his hair, lightly stroking his scalp. He felt a kiss pressed to his head. “I’m _sorry_ for what I did. You didn’t deserve it.”  
  
Louis stayed very, very still. He wanted to ask, _sorry for what? For_ that _night? For this night? For all nights_? Most of all, he wanted to ask: _do you know I’m awake_? He didn’t dare. He felt Lestat’s left hand wind underneath him, then up against his chest, resting right over his heart. He fought down his rapidly increasing heartbeat, certain that the loathed pirate could feel the way his heart raced at that touch.  
  
He flinched a little, unable to help himself, as Lestat moved forward slightly and kissed him on the cheek, resting his lips there as a blush formed on Louis’ cheek. He knew the pirate could feel the heat resonating from him, but he forced himself to stay still and feign sleep as Lestat buried his face into his captive’s silky black hair, against his neck, and stayed there.  
  
The minutes ticked by. Louis listened as Lestat’s breathing slowed, becoming the regulated breathing of the sleeper, and only then did he dare let out a weary sigh. He tried to pull away a little, but Lestat’s weight against him prevented him, and besides, though he hated to admit it, the pirate was a warm, comfortable weight in the slight chill of the cabin. Louis turned his head and sneaked a glance at his captor.  
  
Lestat looked so young and innocent next to him, his loose, wild hair against the pillow. He had such an angelic expression on his face that Louis felt it positively obscene; what an absolute bastard the pirate was in reality.  
  
He listened awhile to the creaking of the cabin around them, the sound of a pirate giving an order in hushed tones outside, something to do with the rigging. Somebody walked past the cabin. If he listened carefully, he could hear the sound of the ship cutting through the Mediterranean waters, making its way through the darkness. The cabin rocked slightly with the sway of the ship. Lestat murmured something in his sleep and pulled Louis closer. The gendarme sighed, closed his eyes, and fell into a deep sleep.


	28. The First Day

Louis slowly wakened, stretching his limbs in the cocooned warmth of the luxurious blankets around him. Hazy sunlight streamed into the room, and he turned over to face the cabin, blinking in the light to see Lestat moving about the room, fussing over maps and searching for his boots. He watched him for some minutes, before the pirate glanced over in his direction. “You’re up and about, finally.”  
  
Louis sat up and gazed about the room. “Well, up, at least.”  
  
“Good. Get changed, then,” said Lestat, pulling a boot onto his right foot, “although… I’m rather beginning to think you need some new clothes. Your usual ones stink.”  
  
“Well, if I’d known I was going to be abducted, I would have been certain to pack some toiletries and a new shirt,” replied Louis testily.  
  
Lestat raised an eyebrow. “Good thing for you I like a sense of humor.” He pulled on his other boot, then strode over to a cabinet, from which he pulled out some clothes, examining them critically. “They’ll probably be a little too big for you, but at least they’re more colorful than that nondescript stuff you came aboard with.” He threw a shirt and a pair of breeches at Louis. “You can wear these for now. We should be docking within the next couple of days. I’ll get you some nice new clothes then.”  
  
“I don’t want anything from you.”  
  
“You want to wear them for the rest of your life?”  
  
“You think I’ll be on here the rest of my life?”  
  
Lestat smirked. “Don’t be so certain of your lifespan on this ship, Louis.”  
  
Louis scowled at him, to hide the shiver that ran through him at the threat. He was heartily tired of Lestat’s threats, issued to him in just about every conversation they had, but he wasn’t yet sure enough of his standing with the pirate to know whether he could afford to ignore them or not. He pulled on the shirt, holding out his arms meaningfully as he was swamped in material. “It’s too big.”  
  
“It’ll do for now.”  
  
Louis glowered at him. “I don’t want to wear _anything_ that smells of you. It makes me sick.”  
  
Lestat smirked. “Charmer.” He gestured to the breeches. “Come on, get dressed. I want you to see something other than the deck today.”  
  
“What? The wheel? Some more idiot pirates? How exciting.”  
  
“Don’t take that tone with me. Come on, get up.”  
  
“I don’t want to.”  
  
“You’re going to lie there instead?”  
  
“Yes,” said Louis definitively.  
  
“All day?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“And sulk?”  
  
“I can’t think of anything else to do.”  
  
Lestat gave him an indulgent smile. “All right. You just want to sit there and sulk. Fine. I’ll give you five minutes—then get the hell out of bed and come and meet me on deck.”  
  
“I thought I was supposed to have it easier now!”  
  
Lestat tossed his head. “ _Nobody_ has it easy around me, darling.” He walked to the door and left, slamming it behind him quickly enough to miss the thrown pillow.


	29. Treading Carefully

Louis got up from the bed and pulled on the breeches, sitting back down with a sigh. _Welcome to the first day of the rest of your life, Louis._ He shook his head. _What am I going to do? I swear I’ll go stark raving mad here, living for the pleasure of that bastard, stuck aboard a ship for… however long he wants me, before I’m left on some godforsaken island, or thrown overboard, or I finally work up the guts to kill him. Impossible._  
  
He paced up and down the cabin for a few minutes, deep in thought. He had to make up his mind about what he was going to do; how he was going to find a way out. Certainly, the constant battle of wills between him and Lestat that seemed to end in slammed doors and him at the worst end of it had to stop. He couldn’t find his way to revenge while arguing about damned _clothes_ , of all things.  
  
He heard people moving about above. Another minute, and some stinking arrogant pirate would be sent below to fetch him. He straightened his shirt, ran his fingers through his hair, then went to join his captor on deck.  
  
*  
  
Louis felt nervous, walking amongst the pirates towards Lestat. He wasn’t sure why; he had been able to hold his own throughout his time on the ship, but now they knew he was weak, had given in rather than have blood on his hands… was Lestat’s. _Ridiculous_ , he told himself, _you’re still the same man_ , but he couldn’t help the trepidation that overcame him as he walked over to Lestat.  
  
The pirate was, as usual, theatrically dashing, flashing a grin at Louis as he stood at the wheel of the ship, shouting out orders to the crew. He wrapped an arm around Louis’ waist and drew him near, kissing him on the cheek and ignoring the gendarme’s attempts to pull away. He had a roll of bread in the other hand that he had been eating. “Hungry?” he asked.  
  
“I suppose,” said Louis.  
  
“Do you want this?”  
  
Louis shrugged. Lestat gave him an exasperated sigh. “Ask for the food, Louis. It won’t kill you.”  
  
Louis gave him a surly look. “I won’t beg for bread.”  
  
“What kind of pirate are you?" Lestat jested, "Pirates take what they can get.”  
  
“I already know that,” said Louis. He growled, low, as Lestat leaned in and kissed him again, seemingly delighted by his behavior. “Stop manhandling me and just give me the damned bread if you want me to have it!”  
  
A pirate nearby chuckled audibly, and Louis swallowed as Lestat turned blazing blue eyes onto him. “Remember who you’re talking to, my little gendarme!” he hissed.  
  
Louis took a deep breath. “All right. I’m… I’m sorry. Please may I have the bread?  
  
Lestat looked shocked for a moment, but quickly recovered himself. “Anything more to add to that?”  
  
“I… no, not really.”  
  
“Sir?”  
  
Louis bit his tongue, hard. “Sir.”  
  
“That’s my boy,” chuckled Lestat, handing him the bread and taking his other arm from around him. “See how much easier things are when you just do what I say and drop the surly attitude?”  
  
Louis seemed to consider this for a moment. He looked up thoughtfully. “I suppose… you’re right. We have to make the best of the situation. Work together.”  
  
“Yes,” agreed Lestat, his voice warm. “I don’t want to hurt you. I’ve told you that.”  
  
Louis couldn’t bite back the retort. “Any more than you already have, you mean.”  
  
“Any more than I have,” agreed Lestat, his gaze warm, his eyes a serene blue. “Don’t challenge me any further, and I swear things will be easy.”  
  
Louis took a bite of the bread, swallowing hungrily. His eyes were large and thoughtful, innocent, Lestat thought. “And do you think this will work, Lestat? Do you think,” he murmured, placing a hand on the pirate’s chest, right above his heart, “that we can get over our differences?”  
  
“Of course we can, if we want to.”  
  
“If we want to,” agreed Louis. He smiled, and if Lestat thought there was something feral about that smile, the thought disappeared when Louis laughed a little. “I… it’s funny, I suppose. I never thought I’d agree to anything you said… but, well. I suppose I can try, and if I fail… then I fail. I can’t promise you that I won’t hurt you, though. And you certainly can’t tell me you know for sure that you won’t hurt me.”  
  
“Give me a chance,” said Lestat, “if you think I’m so bad… if I have hurt you, let me at least try and make some amends. Why don’t you try to change me?”  
  
“Because,” said Louis, “I’d have to care about you first.”  
  
“Then let me see if I can change that,” murmured Lestat into his ear, drawing him close. “You’re stuck on this ship for as long as I want. Perhaps for the rest of your life. Let us try and find some solution, yes?”  
  
Louis allowed himself to be pulled closer into the embrace, still resisting but not quite so much as he had earlier when a light kiss was planted on his forehead, then his cheeks. “A solution,” he murmured, his eyes dark green, thoughtful, “Yes. I’d like that very much.” He went to say more, but Lestat’s mouth descended on his own, kissing him gently before a tongue slowly entered his parted lips, and he moaned despite himself. Lestat, triumphant, grinned and deepened the kiss.


End file.
